


More Than Time

by breadthief (trufield)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Eventual Porn, Friends to Lovers, Javert Lives, Javert using slurs to describe himself, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Seine, Roadtrip, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, guys getting through their issues, now with porn, old man virgins, one instance of self-harm, tentative friendship, we will end up with most positions and activities by the end, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 116,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17567903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufield/pseuds/breadthief
Summary: Javert's moment with the Seine is interrupted but his confusion and uncertainty remain.Life continues to be difficult for him with these new trials of conscience, but perhaps it gets somewhat easier in the presence of a friend.Friendship is the last thing either of them expected and maybe, in the end, it's a bond that runs far deeper.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to avatoh for being my amazing beta!

He stepped up onto the parapet and leaned over waters as black as the sky above. The rushing of his thoughts and the Seine drowned out the sound of footsteps approaching so when he felt a hand upon him, he startled. That hand became arms that suddenly enveloped his waist to prevent him from falling, despite the fact that falling was his precise purpose. His soul had already fallen from grace after all, it was only natural for his body to follow its fate. 

“Javert!” A muffled plea at his back. He would know that voice anywhere, he had always strained to hear it, to identify it, he could never escape it. Confound it!

The arms would not release him. Javert shifted in their hold, cursed by indecision, not seeking to move in either direction. The slight shift of his boot caused him to slip on the wet stone, making his decision for him. 

“Javert!”

The grip tightened, Valjean’s body moving forward with his own, and despite Javert’s desire for an End, his body reflexively scrabbled for purchase, for safety. Ludicrous! Even more so how his hands came up to grip those strong forearms which had slid up to his chest. 

He was pulled back from the edge, down from the parapet, his back colliding against Valjean's chest, his body limp. The arms left him when he straightened. He had no fight left in him, exhausted and at the mercy of the whims of this cruel new world. He did not turn to see Valjean. He could not bear it. He could not bear any of it. 

“... I was expecting you at my address,” Valjean said softly and somehow it was deafening. “You seek to arrest me, do you not?”

Javert barked an ugly laugh that held no mirth. 

“This is torture!” He cried, feeling somewhat hysterical, but pride meant little now. “First you turn the world on its end so I can see nothing clearly, understand nothing, then you prevent my escape from it to further my suffering and now! And now you would have me confess my failings to you like a sinner to a priest. A sinner to a saint.” Another joyless laugh forced itself from his throat. Perhaps he was going mad.

He turned and regarded Valjean's mild, pitying expression, his pure white hair clear in the darkness. Yes, a saint indeed as absurd as that may be. Valjean's brow furrowed and he said nothing. He was to force the confession from him then, force him to admit it to himself and this nonsensical world. A saint should not be so cruel!

“I do not seek your arrest!” He cried, throwing his words out in to the quiet night for all to judge him. Valjean's eyes widened in surprise. “There! I said it. I do not.”

Valjean seemed at as much of a loss as himself. 

“You… do not?”

“Do not make me repeat it! Although I am not deserving of your mercy I suppose. I no longer wish to place you in irons. It does not make you a free man but it makes you free of me, which is just the same I would think. No one else would search for you so.”

“Perhaps you should rest,” Valjean stumbled, uncertain of the words he spoke. “Your mind is clouded, as you say. You will see clearer in the morning light and you may think on this again.”

They both stood, silent and unmoving. 

“Come,” Valjean coaxed as he turned to walk down the street but waited for him to follow. 

With a lack of any other direction, and his moment with the black, rushing waters somehow jolted to a halt, Javert shadowed him, as he had done on many previous occasions. Only this time he was not the wolf tracking his prey but an obedient mongrel walking to heel. Javert scowled but did not divert from their route. 

He walked the streets, unseeing through his clouded thoughts. Surely he only kept his route because he was so used to tracking Valjean. The slight scrape of an ex-con’s foot as he walked - Javert could still detect it despite all the years that had passed and the careful, measured movements of Madeleine that disguised it. 

The clearing of the sky at dawn would not clear his turbulent thoughts, of that he was certain. So why was he following this man? Walking to heel of the master of his fate? He had been certain that there were two paths open to him, one that he could not bring himself to travel, and yet now he was more troubled than before. A dense fog clouded this fork in the road. He was uncertain how many branches it had or where the paths began. It horrified him more than the notion of _two_ paths. A multitude was unbearable and, as such, his mind ceased to be able to function as it had been. 

He was a man unused to such introspection and questions of conscience, who had pondered at great lengths already and ended up as if he had been swept up by an avalanche - unseeing, numb and unable to distinguish up from down. Not to mention Javert’s trials at the barricade which had made his body stiff and sore. He was hungry, he was thirsty and above all he was exhausted. All of these factors dulled the sharp mind of a precise inspector and ground it to a halt. 

Valjean exclaimed at something and Javert was herded into a fiacre. He thought perhaps they were still travelling with the boy, taking his corpse to his family, and that his letter, his consultation with the Seine, was all an absurd waking dream of an exhausted mind. After all, how likely was it for Valjean to stumble across him again and save his life twice it one night? If he had been scrutinising Valjean, as he normally would have done, he would have seen the shock and worry on his face at Javert's terrible grin. 

He must have fallen asleep as he was gently shaken by the shoulder and he realised they were no longer in motion. He stumbled down onto the street after Valjean. He almost walked into the man he was pursuing- no, following. He had not even noticed they were approaching a property. Number 7 of… whichever street Valjean had told him of. Valjean opened the gate for him and Javert, in his state of passive distress, did not perceive the unusual route of entry via Rue de Babylone (and they were not, in fact, anywhere near Rue de l’Homme Armé). He did notice that Valjean led him to a kind of porter’s lodge and not the house, for that he was grateful. 

Valjean closed the door behind him. 

“I will take your coat. It is dirty.”

Javert barely heard him. He allowed the coat to be pulled from him without protest. The door opened and closed again, and Javert stood there in the gloom until Valjean returned, a shadow bustling around in the darkness. 

“Here,” Valjean pressed a glass of water into his hands. 

Javert drank greedily, feeling the water run down his chin. 

“Help yourself,” Valjean gestured to a small table with a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread which had already been torn into. 

Javert's body took over for him in its animal need for sustenance. He filled the glass twice more before seizing the bread and biting into it. He would have been ashamed if his wits were about him - behaving like an uncultured beggar. He drank the last of the water and Valjean spoke again.

“Come, you are exhausted.”

Firm hands guided him to the bed. As soon as Javert saw it, his knees almost gave out. He laid on top of the sheets, without a care for his boots and leather stock, and promptly fell to sleep. 

\-----

Javert awoke in an unfamiliar room, in a bed more comfortable than his own. He jolted upright. Valjean slept in a chair by his bedside.

“What are you doing you fool?!” Javert barked at himself as much as Valjean. 

Valjean lurched into wakefulness, gripping the armrests, knuckles as white as his face, eyes wide with fear. After a moment he breathed deep, closing his eyes. When he regarded Javert once more he had a calm countenance. 

“Ah yes, Javert. Forgive me I had not intended to sleep.”

He still looked haggard and exhausted - of course he was - risking life and limb all night at the barricade (the barricade! Yes, that awful night), trudging through the sewer for God knew what reason… 

“Why were you at the barricade?” Javert demanded, his desire for information and confession a familiar distraction from his current circumstances. 

“To find a boy and get him home safely.”

“The corpse,” Javert recalled. 

“No, not yet at least.”

“But not a boy plucked at random. You knew his address.”

“Please, Javert, he is young. Young foolishness that lead to such events. You would not arrest him-”

“Bah! Do not tell me who I can and cannot arrest! The nerve-”

“Forgive me, I know it is not my right-”

Javert was suddenly angered. This man, this formidable man, who had escaped _Toulon_ , cunning as a fox, avoiding capture for all these years, the sure and quiet confidence of Madeleine - all of these things came together for the first time and they did not match the feeble man in front of him. 

“Forgive?” He spat and Valjean flinched, not meeting his eyes. “And why would _you_ beg _my_ forgiveness?”

Valjean sighed and Javert saw an old man sitting before him. 

“My daughter is in love with him… and he in love with her.”

“Daughter?” Javert said before he could stop himself. He did not care about these things. He snorted, recalling the extravagant address they had taken the boy to. “Ah yes, save a well-to-do bourgeois boy and the rich family would no doubt accept the match and shower you with praise and fortunes.”

Even as he spoke, the words did not sit right with him. Valjean sighed, a weary, forlorn sound. 

“They do not know the identity of his rescuers.” He stood. “I will leave you to dress and then you may take me to the station house.”

Javert could not find any words to shoot at him before the door closed. He was left to acknowledge his predicament. 

The memories came back to him: his imprisonment, Valjean setting him free, the sewer, the corpse, the Seine… It was less clear after that. He looked down at himself. A sheet had been laid over him. He pulled it back. ‘Dress’ Valjean had said, yet he was already dressed. In yesterday's clothes, of course. He grimaced, conscious of the sweat and the filth, but he had no fresh clothes here. He groaned as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed where his boots stood. He pulled them on with some difficulty, noticing his chafed wrists as he did so. 

His leather stock was laid over the arm of the chair, he hesitantly touched his fingertips to his sore throat and decided against it. The stock must have stopped the rope chafing but the skin felt horribly bruised. He remained seated on the edge of the bed. 

_I had not intended to sleep_. 

The fool! Valjean should still be in a deep slumber even now. His trials and feats of impossible strength and will were greater than anything Javert had suffered. Javert's hands curled into fists. That absurd man! His bottomless mercy and irritating martyrdom! Giving his bed to his enemy - what nonsense!

He pictured this Saint crawling from the putrid bowels of the earth and barked a rough laugh. Yes, the perfect picture of the impossible convict-saint, brought from the mouth of Hell itself as Javert's divine saviour. 

“Javert? Are you well...?”

“I am terrible.” 

“Here is some bread and cheese, tea as well. I do not have much stocked here, I have been living elsewhere.” He waited, presumably for Javert to respond but there was only silence. “Well, eat if you wish and then we will go to the station h-”

“Enough!” Javert cried, putting his head in his hands and tugging at his hair. “The station house he says! The station house! It is all you ever say! It's either that or pleading for more time - 3 days, one journey, ‘I just need to go home’-”

“Precisely. You do not need to wait for me any longer. I am here.”

“And I wish you weren't! I am none of your business, why couldn't you just leave me be?”

“Javert… You know I could not. I waited, for a long time I waited for you to return. I thought perhaps you had gone to make yourself presentable and get fresh clothes, so I did the same and washed the muck from myself. But then you still hadn't returned. I have never known you to lie. It did not sit right with me. I went out, I do not know what I was hoping to find but when I saw you there… Javert, you would have condemned yourself!”

“I am already condemned.”

“How so?”

Javert snorted and raised his head. “You of all people should know.”

Valjean shook his head dumbly. “I do not understand.”

“Have we ever understood one another?” He sighed in irritation at Valjean's blank expression. “Here it is then, if I must: if I do not arrest you I am not doing my duty-”

“But I say you can-”

“Hush! Stop with your irritations!” Javert flailed his arm. “If I were to arrest you… I cannot. In the eyes of God I cannot. And do not say it! Do not speak! What did I say? ‘Why’ I know you will ask of me and I would ask of you why you torment me so. Because perhaps, somehow, you are a good man and if that is so I have made a grave error in my pursuit and more than that, there is error in the law. I do not know how to fathom it or what it means.”

“I see.”

“You don't.”

“Not entirely, no. But enough. Come, have some tea.”

Javert got up to sit opposite him at the small table and they ate in silence. Breaking bread together in some ugly mockery of friendship. Absurdity piled on absurdity, as if Javert's life were now one great circus.

“You will go home then?”

It was true, he needed fresh clothes, to wash and shave and neaten his hair. Regain himself physically if nothing else. But people would look for him there, insist he go back to work immediately or- oh God - the letter-

“Javert? What is the matter?”

“I cannot,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot.”

Valjean regarded him steadily. “Of course. You must recover before you return to work. What is your address? I will fetch your clothes.”

Javert found himself giving it, Valjean left immediately and Javert frowned at his untouched tea. What was he to do? His mind shied away from complex introspection, too tired to fathom it, so he rose and tried to move the stiffness from his limbs. 

He began to investigate - a natural, comforting instinct to him. He poked around the small, peculiar porter’s lodge, which in the light of day he would probably term a hut as there didn't appear to be a porter, or anyone else other than Valjean and himself. It was fully furnished as a living space, a bed, table and chairs and a fireplace. Why would this be used as living quarters when it was a few paces from what Javert imagined to be a perfectly serviceable house? 

He went out, walked the perimeter of the house, which did indeed appear serviceable (and large), then found the overgrown garden and the unused gate. Valjean had been well hidden here. He sat at the base of a tree, out of view of the gate, gazed at the flowers and weeds and thought of nothing at all. He was there for some time before his reverie was broken. 

“Javert! Javert!” Valjean rounded the corner of the house in a panic, a peculiar reversal of when Valjean would run from his name. 

“I am here,” Javert said as he stood. 

“Oh! I have your clothes, at the hut, and I have informed your portress of your absence.” Valjean kept his distance. “Javert? Will you come to the hut?”

It dawned on Javert then, the source of Valjean's panic: that he would finish what Valjean had interrupted and seek to end his life. 

“I would not have had the time to reach the Seine from here.” He frowned. “Where are we?”

“Rue Plumet.”

Javert's frown deepened. “So you lied about you address.”

“No! No, no. I do live at Rue de l’Homme-Armé, I have just sent a message to Cosette and my housekeeper to tell them not to worry over my absence. I have a number of properties.”

‘ _A number of properties_ ’ made sense. Fox-cunning indeed. 

“Cosette… The whore’s child?” Javert said matter-of-factly.

“She is no such thing,” Valjean countered, a threat to his voice. “You will not speak it.”

“Ah, and so you hid me here so I would not tell your secrets.”

“Javert. Come to the hut. Please.”

“No. Stop hiding. I will have you speak plain to me, to the eyes of the world.”

“I don't care what you say of me Javert, the truths you know, only- only I cannot have her disgraced. She is innocent. If the boy lives, she will marry. I will go and she will know nothing of me. My stains will be washed from her. And I did not know of your current health-”

“You think me mad.”

“I think you are unwell. A sickness of the soul.”

“Or the mind.”

“Please. Javert, come inside. You do not have your coat.”

Javert strode past him, back to the strange hut, where his clothes were neatly folded on the bed with his labourers coat. He did not know what Valjean had done with the one he arrived in. A basin of water sat on the dresser, with soap, a razor, a small mirror and folded linen beside it - simple objects for a simple task which he had performed hundreds of times in his life. Today would be no different. 

“Well? Will you leave me now?” 

Valjean hesitated. 

“I'm not going to slit my throat. Leave me.” Javert turned his nose up. “You also need to wash. Whatever you managed yesterday has not rid you entirely of sewer-stench.”

“Oh. I fear it has compromised my sense of smell.”

“Hardly surprising.”

“I will be in the house.” Yet Valjean still hesitated by the door. 

“I will come to you for assistance if I need it. Which I won't.”

Javert closed the door on him as soon as he stepped outside. He turned back to the room, regarded the basin and squared his shoulders. He set about his familiar routine in an unfamiliar place. He undressed, laid a sheet of linen on the floor to not dampen the floorboards, and made a damage assessment of his body. He noticed all the cuts and bruises, the marks from the the rope and his swollen knee. Satisfied that the damage was superficial, he began to wash, giving more notice to his wounds (however minor) to guard against possible infection.

Then, he upturned his head to dunk his hair in the soapy water and tried to untangle it with his fingers. He dried himself once he was done, and dressed in his fresh clothes. His hair was swept up in a haphazard bun to prevent it dripping everywhere, and then he began to shave, ignoring his haggard face in the mirror. 

Throughout this entire process his mind did not wander. He was careful and meticulous. When all his tasks were complete, he sat and gazed at the murky water. He realised distantly that he still held the razor. He blinked, set it down, disposed of the water outside, hung the towels over the back of the chair, looked for a comb, didn't find one, sat down and wondered where Valjean had got to. 

Time passed and Javert grew impatient. He went to the house, striding through the rooms until he found him. Why had Valjean made them reside in the hut when the house was vacant?

Javert entered the living room and there was Valjean: slumped in a chair, his hair damp, shirt half buttoned, his chest rising and falling with the deep breaths of a peaceful slumber. His face was lined with age and fatigue and Javert could not imagine sending this man to the galleys. Without the fire of determination in his eyes, Valjean was merely an old man who looked, in that moment, that any further strain upon him would send him to his grave. 

Javert bowed his head and returned to the hut, his mind waking from its numbed state - ideas and memories flooding in, making it reel once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have the confidence 5 years or so ago to write this but here we are! It's here!  
> I hope you enjoy it, I can promise there's good things to come...


	2. Chapter 2

“Papa! Oh, Papa! What has happened? We got your note but I was still so worried! There has been fighting on the streets, you know! Oh, it’s terrible!”

Thankfully, Valjean had awoken moments before Cosette’s arrival, and wasn't shocked awake as he had been by Javert earlier. He thought he must have heard her approaching the house. He did not have time to remember and worry about Javert. He hurriedly buttoned his shirt to the neck. 

“Cosette! You should not be out in these streets! Oh God, Cosette, you didn't see anything did you?”

“Oh no, Papa. The driver had to avoid those barricades. I know you sent your note this morning and the fighting was last night but I was just beside myself! Toussaint told me you came home in the evening and your clothes were filthy! Papa! Whyever would you do such a thing? And leave again in the dead of night! With all this fighting! Papa you are reckless and you worry me so!”

She flung her arms around him and he kissed her hair. He knew it was bad to feel such joy at her worry but how much longer would she worry over him? He treasured it. 

He had intended to return to Rue de l’Homme Armé with Javert, it was far closer to the Pont du Change, but he had seen a fiacre and taken it as a sign. It was much more sensible for them to come here and he had thought he would avoid difficult questions. It seemed he was not so fortunate in that regard. No matter, Javert was likely sleeping. 

“Monsieur, I believe there is someone in your quarters,” Toussaint said, face pale. “I thought I saw a shadow at the window when we passed by and just now, I looked out to check and-”

“It's alright ladies,” Valjean assured them as Cossette had put her hand to her mouth, doubtless imagining some violent insurgent hiding there. He may as well have returned to Rue de l’Homme Armé after all. “It is only… a friend of mine.”

“Friend?” Cosette somehow looked even more surprised by this notion. 

“Yes,” Valjean hurried to cover this revelation as ordinary circumstance. “He needed somewhere to stay to avoid the fighting, that's why I had to come back here last night. There's nothing to worry about.”

“Well! He must dine with us! After such a stressful night and not being able to return home, we must make him feel at home here.”

“Cosette- he is very tired.”

“And once he has rested he will be very hungry. Why, it's only being a good host!” She put her hands on her hips and tutted at him. “Really Papa, you give him your awful little shed to stay in when we have lovely rooms here. I know you like it there, but it's no place for guests.”

Valjean floundered for an excuse but Cosette wasn't finished. 

“And Papa,” her perfect and delicate hand took hold of his own. “You are exhausted too. He cannot expect you to host him and cook his meals. Toussaint is here.”

“It would be my pleasure Monsieur,” Toussaint bowed her head and gestured to the basket she held. “I was concerned you might not have eaten well so I came prepared.”

“Oh Toussaint, whatever have I done to deserve you? You may prepare a meal if you must,” Valjean said feebly, sinking back into his chair. 

“That's right Papa! You continue to rest. I will help Toussaint and when your friend is ready he will join us here.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then she was gone in a flurry of ribbon and lace. Valjean closed his eyes, putting a hand to his forehead. He had no idea what he was going to do. An instinct told him to run: go to Javert, tell him he had to escort his daughter back home, tell Cosette that his guest had vanished, return home and pack for England because he didn't want to stay in Paris after all of the bloodshed. It would solve all of his problems but he abandoned such plans when he decided to go to the barricade. Cosette would be unhappy parted from the boy and Valjean would hate for her to grow bitter towards him for separating them. 

Then there was Javert. Valjean could see him standing on the parapet, lost in the darkness. Valjean wasn't sure what would happen to him if he were left alone: he couldn't leave. He would be plagued with thoughts of Javert taking his own life and not knowing what had become of him. 

He thought of Javert's blank acceptance that night after his inner turmoil and Valjean was harshly reminded of himself, years ago- bitter and snarling, snapping at the only man who thought to help him. The Bishop had put up with him doing much worse. The only thing he feared Javert would do was tell the truth about Valjean’s past and Valjean could not fault him if he did so. 

“I require a comb.”

Valjean jumped off his seat, feeling as if he had nearly leapt out of his very skin in fright at the timbre of Javert's voice. He tried to level out his breathing and not look so stricken. He wasn't sure if he succeeded. 

“Valjean?” Javert frowned at him from the doorway, taking a step closer. 

“Cosette-” he said weakly. 

“I know. I took my opportunity when they were no longer in your company but I really-”

“Oh! Good evening Monsieur!” Cosette entered the room, stopping beside Javert with a confidence that Valjean didn't think he would ever be able to possess in the presence of the inspector. “You will be joining us for dinner won't you? Toussaint is cooking as we speak.”

Javert looked just as frozen as Valjean felt. He did not move his gaze to Cosette but remained staring at Valjean. Javert closed his eyes. 

“Please excuse me, Mademoiselle. I fear I am in disarray.” He fiddled with his collar and Valjean realised he hadn't put on a cravat, although he was wearing a coat. His hair wasn't in its usual neat queue. 

“Oh no, you are injured-”

“Hardly.” Javert did turn to look at her then but, remarkably, Cosette was not deterred. 

“You have been under such strain. Do not concern yourself with your appearance on my account Monsieur. Oh please, do sit. Toussaint will bring tea shortly.”

“I really must insist on a comb,” he said, eyes flicking back to Valjean. 

“That's no problem at all, follow me.”

Javert cast one last scrutinising look at him before he followed Cosette out of the room. Valjean could hear her merrily relaying their dinner plans as they went down the corridor. 

Valjean set about making himself presentable too - tying his cravat, putting on his waistcoat and frock coat. Before long Cosette was back. 

“You were right Papa, he is tired. He doesn't talk much at all. Is he shy?”

Valjean exhaled a laugh. “ _Shy?_ Oh no, never shy. Now fetch that tea from Toussaint so she can make the dinner.”

An excuse to buy a few more minutes to try and devise a plan. He was unsuccessful. Javert returned sooner than anticipated. He stood with his arms folded glaring at Valjean. Valjean could not maintain eye contact. His gaze slid to his hands in his lap. 

“... Are you feeling any better?”

“No.”

The uncomfortable silence stretched until Cosette arrived with a rattling tea tray. 

“Monsieur! Please, sit!”

She placed the tray on the small table beside Valjean's chair and went to move another chair closer. 

“Mademoiselle, I can do that.”

Javert strode over and moved the chair so that the table was between the armrests of both of them. Valjean was relieved not to be facing him. Likely Javert felt the same and was disheartened when Cosette pulled up a dining chair to sit opposite them. 

“Papa, you have not introduced us,” she scolded in a lighthearted manner.

“Ah. Forgive me. Cosette this is Inspector Javert, Javert this is Cosette Fauchelevent, my daughter.” He gave Javert the full name in the hope he would catch on to Valjean’s current alias and use it. 

“An inspector! How exciting! Papa never told me he had such interesting friends.”

“You romanticise it,” Javert said gruffly as he took up his tea. 

“I'm sure it is very dangerous,” Cosette nodded solemnly but there was still a spark in her eye. 

“Not the adventure-novel antics you likely imagine.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Valjean found himself saying to play along with Cosette's vision of the two of them, “you have certainly had your moments.”

Cosette beamed and Javert glowered at him. 

“I had not considered but of course Father’s friends would be just as singular as himself.”

“You mean I am strange to look at,” Javert countered immediately. 

“I won't deny you are unusual, Inspector, but that is not to say you are unsightly.”

“You will find many people think that I am.”

“Then they are foolish and it shows your strength of character that you do not change.”

“Some things are impossible to change.”

“Quite right. But you seem to make no apology for who you are. As it should be.”

“Perhaps regarding my appearance, yes.”

An interesting distinction. An implication that Javert really did think change was possible in other areas? Valjean did not dare hope for it. 

Valjean and Javert did not look at each other. Javert had a curt manner of speaking that could immediately end a conversation but Cosette was determined and used it as excuse to move to another topic. 

“How do you know my father then? I confess, I have not known him to have a friend. I never understood it myself but, as I said,” she leaned forward hand against the side of her face in the imitation of whispering a secret, “he is quite singular.”

She turned to smile at Valjean but he was frozen in dread in anticipation of Javert's answer. “And I love him for it,” Cosette added, in case there was any doubt. 

“Come Cosette, you should not interrogate the Inspector.”

Cosette rested her hand on his but Valjean could only look at Javert in a silent plea. 

“Indeed he is most singular.” Javert said, not turning his gaze to Valjean. “We knew each other a long time ago. He recognised me at the barricade and saved my life.”

“The barricade?! Father!” Cosette whirled towards him. Valjean trembled. 

“Saving one man is hardly enough for your father.”

She turned back to Javert, bewildered. 

“Whatever do you mean?”

Javert frowned. “He went to save your boy of course.”

“Marius!? Papa, you know of Marius? And he was at the barricade? Was he injured? Oh, tell me Papa! What has happened?”

Javert met his eyes then, realising his misstep but not being able to fathom why Valjean would lie about this feat. 

Valjean's heart sunk. Just like that, Cosette was gone from him once more. Her concerns for him overwritten by her concerns for the boy and Valjean feared they would never return to him. He stared at his weathered old hands and clenched his fists. He gathered the courage to meet her gaze. 

“I did not want to startle you - you have already been so worried over me. The boy is in a bad way and, as you can imagine, his family are distraught. I think they needed this day to themselves. I did not want to upset you when you were not able to do anything about it.”

Cosette was frightfully pale and her eyes shimmered with tears. He looked back down to his hands in shame. 

“But… how did you know?”

“I confess I… intercepted a letter that was meant for you. I was concerned it might contain something malicious.”

“You tried to save him for me?” The tears began to fall. 

“Cosette-”

Suddenly her arms were around his neck, her tears in his hair. 

“Oh Papa… You do so much for me- How could you even do such a thing? Oh thank you, thank you…”

Valjean couldn't help but return her embrace, despite feeling that he did not deserve it. 

“Do not thank me yet. His condition is perilous…”

That made her part from him, hands over her mouth. 

“Oh, Marius! Poor Marius! I cannot go to him?”

“I think that is best for now. Perhaps you should prepare bandages for him? I'm sure his family would be grateful.”

“Yes! Yes, that is what I must do. But… Please excuse me.”

As she stood back she noticed Javert was still there, pointedly staring into his empty tea cup.

“Forgive me Inspector,” she said with a small curtsy before she fled the room to recover herself. . 

Silence descended once more and Valjean exhaled a shuddering sigh. 

“You had no intention of telling her,” Javert frowned at him. A statement more intrusive than a question - Javert knew the answer, he demanded a _reason_.

“I was going to tell her tomorrow and relay a message-”

“That's not what I meant. You had no intention of telling her you went to retrieve him. And that's not just because you feel guilt about reading her letter.” Javert narrowed his eyes. “Are you so used to lying that you are incapable of telling the truth?”

“Such a lie is not against the law Javert.” Bitterness was creeping into him and perhaps he spoke more rudely than he ought to have done. 

“I believe living under a false identity is.”

“If I am so dishonest, so terrible, why _don't_ you arrest me?” Valjean snapped. Javert curled his lip in his distaste at the topic but Valjean continued. “You say I ruined your plan by not being who you thought I was - who I have always been since Cosette. That is no fault of mine. You seem to think that when I intervene I ruin your life, not save it. I do not believe that. God would not have led me to you-”

“God,” Javert snorted. “What does _God_ want with a wretch like me? You think I should become a priest?”

Valjean ignored him. 

“I ruined your plans. Very well. You have also ruined mine. I was prepared for you to take me in, to return to Toulon. My life is finished. I have no purpose here any longer. I sought to clear my conscience, repay my debts and go into the next life with my soul cleansed.”

Despite the animosity, the conversation was strangely pleasant. Being able to speak plainly was a great relief, one that he had never truly known. Javert was silent and Valjean spoke more calmly. 

“I am a liar, it is true. So dishonest that in my old age I forget what lies have been spun to which people and I forget my name - my true name, my false name, it does not matter. What does my true name mean to me any longer? The only name that ever mattered to me was ‘Papa’...” He shook his head sadly. “Yes, I am a liar, but so are you, if only to yourself.”

Javert’s jaw was clenched and his brow furrowed. 

“You have been running and hiding all these years and yet you have nothing to live for?” Javert spat.

“I lived for Cosette. It was selfish of me, I know. Who was I to think I could raise her well? I, who had forgotten what love had felt like, who had never been a father? ...But once she called me ‘Papa’ I could not…” Valjean felt tears sting his eyes. “I could not let her go.”

“And you say she will marry and what of it? She will not need you any longer?” Javert seemed to read the answer in Valjean’s expression. “If she is such a fool then you _have_ done a terrible job of raising her. Regardless of her foolishness you are undoubtedly the biggest fool. It is plain she loves you.” He paused for a moment. “I had not thought it possible.”

“That she loves me? It is true that I am blessed with her but she does not know the truth of me and I imagine she would feel differently if she did.”

Javert did not say anything to that and Valjean took his silence as agreement. In Javert’s eyes more than anyone else's a convict was repulsive, less than a man. It had taken the accumulation of Valjean’s great feats of mercy and good deeds for Javert to consider perhaps reevaluating him. Valjean thought anyone else with a yellow passport didn't stand much of a chance under Javert's scrutiny. 

“Monsieur, the soup is ready,” Toussaint said from the doorway. 

“Thank you Toussaint. Will you please fetch Cosette and join us?”

“As you wish Monsieur.”

Cosette returned, pale but respectable and they all sat at the table, Javert beside Valjean and Cosette and Toussaint on the opposite side. Valjean thanked the Lord for this sustenance, especially needed after all of their trials, and then they began to eat.

Javert ate in the same way he had done in Montreuil - restrained and polite but still somehow managing to finish before everyone else. Valjean had recognised it, he had suffered the same before the success of his factory, it was the behaviour of a man too proper to be hungry. How torturous it was, to have the air filled with rich scents, to have a decent-sized plate before you which would seem far too grand, however simple it was, for your stomach to want to roar and your mouth want to salivate, but one could not be poor. To be hungry was to be poor, to be poor was to be a beggar. One could not be respectable in such a condition. 

He had been wary of Javert in the beginning. He did not recognise him from Toulon - the guards as faceless and interchangeable as they no doubt thought the prisoners to be - but even so, he was a man of the police and that was enough to cause concern. Madeleine had kept him at arm's length, saw him only when Javert's duties demanded it, and retained an illusion of being perpetually busy to deter interruption and excuse himself being distracted. 

Then, one winter evening, Javert had arrived to give his report completely soaked through. He did not remove his hat and immediately began to recite the events of the day, as if nothing was the matter but his shuddering gave him away. 

_“Inspector. Enough.”_

_Javert grimaced and stopped his report mid-sentence._

_“You are in no condition for this now.”_

_“My work does not cease in poor weather, Monsieur le Maire.”_

_“Even so, you will catch your death and then what am I to do? This town needs their Inspector.”_

_“Of course Monsieur. I… appreciate your concern but I fear you exaggerate my condition.”_

_“The damp and cold can grip the lungs of any man, no matter how strong. You must consider yourself.”_

_Javert inclined his head and a trickle of water ran from the brim of his hat. Madeleine committed to his decision._

_“Come, I have finished here. You will accompany me home and give your report to me in front of a fire.”_

_“Monsieur-!” Javert started to protest._

__

__

_“It was not a request,” Madeleine countered, believing Javert would not argue with a direct order._

_Javert frowned, shifting his gaze to the floor. Madeleine stepped past him and the Inspector followed at his heels._

_Upon entering his home, Madeleine took Javert's coat, ignoring his protests, and wrung the worst of the water out onto his front step. He turned back to Javert to see him remove his hat, the moat that had formed around the brim splashing onto the floor. Javert cringed._

_“Forgive me Monsieur.”_

_“Nonsense. It is only water. Come now, to the fire.”_

_Madeleine took him to the living room and filled the grate himself. He did not miss Javert's quick scan of the room, likely surprised it was so humble. Madeleine pushed an armchair close to the fire._

_“Sit. Remove your boots and stockings. They are likely filled with water.”_

_Javert looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Is this another order?”_

_“If that will make you do it, yes.”_

_Javert huffed, sat down and tugged his boots off. Madeleine had known early on that Javert was easily irritated but he was also honest and had an incredible dedication to justice. It was unfortunate their opinions differed on what justice should be but Javert was an asset. He protected this town and Madeleine should work with him so they could both further benefit the the citizens._

_“Your report, Inspector,” Madeleine coaxed, sitting in a chair opposite Javert._

_Javert told him of a gang of pickpockets that were frequenting the market, that some of them had been apprehended, and he hoped they would give up the rest. Madeleine risked asking Javert's opinions of the reasoning of the thieves and made his own suggestions. This made Javert so animated that he entirely forgot his discomfort. He told Madeleine a number of times that he did not fully understand the situation or that as a man of his position he_ could not _understand._

 _“You might know that I was just a labourer before I was a mayor. This position is unfamiliar to me and I know you think I am unsuited-” he held up his hand to stop Javert interrupting. “I believe it makes me closer to these citizens precisely_ because _I understand.”_

_“You do not know as much as you think,” Javert responded, getting carried away in the conversation._

_“Perhaps, but no one can know everything Inspector. Only God is all-knowing.”_

_“Monsieur le Maire,” came the voice of the portress from the doorway. “I have prepared your dinner. Would you like me to serve it?”_

_“Please join me for dinner Inspector. I am enjoying our conversation.”_

Valjean had enjoyed their conversations - it felt like progress. Progress for the town, progress for himself, he had no idea how other mayors did their duty but he had felt he was closer to what he was meant to be. He couldn't help but wonder if Javert was so angry at him when it was all over because he had felt personally slighted after their cooperation. 

They had been colleagues with a wary yet mutual regard for each other. Javert rarely understood Madeleine and was often exasperated by his ‘naivety’. Madeleine on the other hand, cringed away from Javert's harsher views and sometimes became short tempered with him in his refusal to change or consider anything differently. In such instances Javert seemed to be immediately reminded of his place in that hierarchy, and fell into an ashamed silence yet his frown showing he had many counter arguments still on his tongue. 

Javert's peculiar expression first observed when Madeleine’s request to accompany him home became an order re-occurred when he begged for his dismissal. Madeleine understood it then, it was the shame of admitting a job was poorly done, although Javert had been the only person of that opinion. He likely saw being affected by the weather, in that first instance, to be an unforgivable weakness so thinking that he might have been wrong all these years… it certainly had a much bigger effect on him. 

Valjean still struggled with the notion that Javert sought to end his life but it was much the same as when he asked for his dismissal wasn't it? Only it had been a more serious offence, so a more severe punishment - dismissal from his life entirely rather than just his occupation. Valjean thought he understood it better than before but he was still at a loss of what to do with this information. 

He realised Javert had finished his meal as fast as predicted and the occupants of the table were trapped in a melancholy silence. Cosette picked at her food, eyes still puffy from her sorrow and Javert stared at his empty bowl, perhaps also remembering when they had dined together before. Poor Toussaint to be stuck with this sorry lot!

“Forgive me, my mind was wandering. Cosette, you must eat to have the strength to see the boy.”

“I know Papa…” she said glumly but even so began to eat a little more. 

“You can still help him even if you cannot see him. You can ready bandages and you can pray. He is in the good Lord’s hands and you must tell Him how good this boy is.”

“Will you pray for him too Papa?”

“Of course.” _I will pray for your happiness_. 

“As will I Mademoiselle and assist with your preparations,” Toussaint offered. 

“Oh thank you, Toussaint. Thank you.” Cosette clasped Toussaint’s hand. 

“... I will pray also,” Javert muttered and Valjean dropped his spoon with a clatter in shock. Javert glared at him but Cosette did not notice these odd reactions. 

“Thank you Inspector!” A smile had formed on her lips and Valjean wanted to keep it there.

“See my dear? There will be plenty of prayers to keep him here.”

Cosette finished her meal much easier after that. The bowls were cleared away and Cosette held his hand and took him aside. 

“May I return to Rue de l’Homme Armé? We are more well supplied there and I have plenty of linen for the bandages. Toussaint will accompany me and you can keep the Inspector company here. He is unwell isn't he? Only too proud to show it.”

“Exactly that,” Valjean replied, smiling at the accuracy of the statement even as his heart crumbled with the knowledge she would leave him. 

“And you must _rest_. You need not fret over us both. I am fine. I fret for Marius and you fret for the Inspector - deal?” She offered a hand to him. 

“I'm afraid I cannot help but worry over you as well.”

“And you are a very good father but there is no need to worry for me now. Make this deal with me, please, otherwise we’ll be worrying over each other.”

“Very well,” Valjean murmured, resigning himself to his fate and taking her hand. “But I will come by in the morning to deliver your note to the boy’s family.”

“Thank you Papa. I really must be going. I will fetch Toussaint.” She curtsied to Javert who remained at the empty table on her way across the room. “A pleasure to meet you Inspector. I hope the next time will be in better circumstances.”

“As do I.”

Then she was gone. It took a little more bustle for her to leave and Toussaint to be ready, but to Valjean it felt instant and all life and colour drained from the room with her departure. Javert broke the silence by clearing his throat. 

“You appear to have raised a proper young lady. Perhaps that is the most remarkable thing of all.”

“I don't think that has much to do with me.”

“Must you argue with me on everything?”

“I do not mean to.”

“You are a natural irritant then?”

“You would pray for him?” Valjean asked before he lost the nerve. 

“She is a pleasant girl who has lived through enough sorrows - of which I was the cause. You said it yourself: I killed her mother. To pray for this boy… It is the least I can do.”

“Javert…That is thoughtful of you.”

Javert snorted and rolled his eyes. “I'm not about to start giving all of my money to beggars.”

_But it is the start of something._

“What will you do?”

“How do you mean?” Valjean couldn’t tell if Javert was thrown by the topic or stalling.

“With your life. Tomorrow. Next week. What will you do?”

Javert looked down at the table, running his finger along a groove in the wood. “I cannot go back Valjean. I left a letter of resignation.”

“Resignation?” Valjean should not have been surprised with what he had thought on over dinner, but to hear Javert say it was still shocking. 

“They likely think I am mad. I am inclined to believe them. I cannot work yet my life _was_ my work.” He looked up at Valjean. “What would you have me do?”

“Me?”

“You brought my life twice over. What would you have me do with it if you feel it is so important?”

“All life is important Javert and your life is your own.” Javert did not look impressed with this answer so Valjean continued. “I would have you stay until you clear your head.”

“And what am I waiting for? Divine intervention?”

“Perhaps. Come, pray with me.”

Javert remained unimpressed by this notion but followed Valjean to the living room regardless. Valjean knelt on the rug before the empty fireplace, the candlesticks above him on the mantelpiece. He bowed his head to them, closed his eyes and clasped his hands. He felt Javert settle beside him and began to pray in silence. 

He sent a prayer for Cosette’s happiness, not quite able to bring himself to wish for the boy’s health but hoping God would determine the right course of action. He prayed for Javert, for him to stay on this course and become a better man. He prayed for himself, that he would have the strength and knowledge to be even half of what the Bishop had been to him for Javert. God had crossed their paths for a reason, Valjean was certain He wanted Javert to live - there was so much good Javert could do. Valjean must help him.

When he opened his eyes and raised his head, Javert was still praying - his brow furrowed. Valjean watched him and wondered what he was praying for. He was reluctant to move in case it disturbed him. Then he noticed something more surprising than anything else that had occurred that day:

The string of black jet beads hanging from Javert's clasped hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! That's the set-up done and from here on I can tell you what I consider the _actual_ story


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to [atinylemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atinylemon/pseuds/atinylemon) for being my bible consultant  
> and avatoh for betaing!

Javert stayed. He wasn't happy to; Valjean was a constant reminder of his failings and sent his mind grasping for what seemed to be unknowable answers, but he had nowhere else to go. Despite what Valjean believed, Javert considered his life brought and would attempt to do what Valjean had bid of him. Perhaps that was his cowardice - having Valjean make decisions for him because he did not trust himself - but Javert was still at a loss. 

He wasn't sure he even knew how to pray correctly. He had never been particularly devout but he thought Valjean's presence would be of some benefit in getting his prayer heard. 

Javert prayed for the boy’s recovery - as promised. He asked God if Valjean was truly a saint, he acknowledged his wrongdoing (if only with ‘ _I have been wrong_ ’), he asked for direction, asked what was demanded of him, asked for a sign. He hated the uncertainty. He wasn't even sure if he knew himself anymore. 

When Javert became tired of asking questions for which he wouldn't receive answers to, he found Valjean looking at him as if he had listened to Javert's prayers, as if they had been sent to him instead. 

Javert cleared his throat, stuffing his rosary into his pocket as he stood. It was difficult to be so close to Valjean, part of him felt he was constantly defying his duty by not arresting him, the other part uncomfortable that Valjean was so willing to have him in his home, speaking to his daughter. 

“I will return to the hut,” Javert informed Valjean who rose to his feet.

“Very well. I will be here.”

\-----

Javert attempted to spend the next day in self-isolation. Valjean seemed to understand. He knocked on the door of the hut once when the morning was growing late and when Javert didn't answer, Valjean told him that food would be left outside the door. Javert was certain that Valjean kept watch to see the basket taken inside to reassure himself that Javert was still alive. 

Valjean had shown him the previous evening where to retrieve water and the secret passage from the property that lead to Rue de Babylone, and so Javert was able to be relatively self-sufficient staying in the hut. He spent his time in dreary silence, turning over the events of his life and the events of Valjean's, the similarities and differences of their circumstances. His thoughts went in circles, as they often had done since the barricade, with Javert unsure precisely what all of this thought would give him or what he was attempting to arrive at. 

He could only take so much before the repetition made his head ache and gave him the urge to tug his hair in frustration. He became aware of how dark it was and looked out of the window to see stars littering the sky. He suddenly couldn't stomach another moment alone with his thoughts. He left the hut and headed to the house, keeping his eyes on the stars until he reached the front door. He knocked - the sound loud and harsh to his ear after his day of silence. 

The door opened a fraction, enough for Javert to see Valjean's face. 

“Javert!” Valjean opened the door fully with a look of surprise. 

“Did you forget I was here?” 

Javert thought it must be difficult for Valjean to be met with the face of his pursuer, the man who he had lived in hiding and in fear from, and yet… Valjean was here, opening his home, stepping aside for Javert to enter. Javert looked upon him as he went inside and Valjean closed the door behind him, and found respect and admiration for his unlikely companion. Valjean had strength in more ways than one, to survive all he had suffered and become the man standing beside him. He had a strength of will and of mind. A strong heart too, Javert supposed, as he followed Valjean to the living room. 

“If I am stuck with my thoughts any longer, I fear I will lose the ability to think at all.”

“I see. Would you like some tea?”

Javert made a non-committal wave of his hand. “If you are making it I suppose so.”

They progressed to the kitchen and Javert followed Valjean's careful, albeit shaky, movements as he heated the water. Valjean had not looked at him since he entered the house. 

“You do not have a housekeeper here?”

“Not presently. Toussaint is with Cosette, tending to the house there. I find time alone can be beneficial, as I can see you believe too.”

“If you prefer me to leave, I wouldn't blame you.”

“That is not what I meant. I-” Valjean hesitated and turned to him. “I am constantly lying by omission to whoever I am in the company of. It takes its toll. You do not have to tell me I am a fraud, Javert. I know. Sometimes it feels as if the life I've led these past 17 years hasn't been my own at all. You are the only person who knows me for what I am and that used to terrify me but now… here, I find it is something of a relief.”

“And yet… I do not know you at all.”

Valjean managed to hold his gaze and gave him a tired smile. “I do not know myself.”

That struck something inside Javert, the very same thing he had thought of himself the previous evening spoken from Valjean's tongue. Valjean turned remove the teapot from the fire. 

\-----

Over that evening and through the next few days, Javert observed Valjean. How he lived, what he did, in an attempt to understand him and learn how to live such a life for himself. First, maintaining an aloof distance but in the end it was more sensible for them to take their meals together, and Javert could learn much more in closer proximity. They did not speak much but thankfully the extended silences they shared together weren't too uncomfortable. He slept in the seclusion of the hut and the Seine came to him in his dreams, but when he woke he no longer desired to go to it. If Valjean was correct, God did not desire Javert's life to end, and to do so would be to deny Valjean this mission God had asked of him. 

Whenever Valjean went out, his pockets were full. Javert assumed this was money to give to any and all reaching hands. Just that observation made him irritable - how much of Valjean's charity had unwittingly funded nefarious and criminal means? Not to mention the dangers of Valjean being so publicly stupid. Any number of people could lash out for more in greed - with a blade or with cunning to extort him later. 

Valjean didn't seem to leave the house so often if Javert was there with him. Initially Javert thought this to be Valjean’s desire to be a good host and not leave him, but Javert paid closer attention to his behaviour and realised the truth. Valjean was uncomfortable in this house, there wasn't any comforts and signs that it was _his_ aside from the candlesticks. No well-worn armchair, not a place or position that was habitual to him, Valjean almost seemed as much of a visitor in this house as Javert was. 

Valjean had moved with more ease in the hut. The truth of the matter dawned on Javert then and he glared at Valjean. This stare went unheeded as Valjean was engrossed in whichever fanciful novel he was reading. 

“You never lived here did you? The hut you have allowed me to stay in - that is your room, is it not?”

Valjean's eyes flicked up to meet his and then back down to the pages of his book. 

“It is.”

“Why?” Javert couldn't fathom it. Valjean behaved in utterly nonsensical ways sometimes. “This house is well hidden, that is why you brought it. The secret entrance, the wild garden - no one would believe it inhabited. Are you so paranoid even after all of these protections?”

“It was Cosette’s.”

“Excuse me?”

“This house. Cosette was the lady of it, I was only her father.”

“It is as if you speak in riddles to me! I hardly believe _she_ purchased this property and even if you brought it on her behalf, what kind of law prevents people from residing in a building if they do not own the deeds? If that is the case then you must banish me from that hut! You cannot force yourself to abide by abstract laws of your own devising when you do not subject anyone else to them.”

“I wanted her to have the house and to be unhindered by me.”

“You cannot tell me she did not beg you to live in the house with her.” Javert couldn't help the triumphant smirk at Valjean's silence. “And you refused her? Why?”

“She did not know any better. I did not deserve it. I could not tell her _why_.”

It was clear to Javert now, Valjean had put himself through numerous punishments of his own making since he had broken parole, and his attitude towards himself was influenced by the prejudice of others. The prejudice of people like Javert, who thought him an irredeemable convict, lesser than other men. Just in these few days Javert had known and understood more of Valjean than all the years previous. For the first time he felt ashamed of his conviction in the pursuit of Valjean. He had hunted in blind ignorance, chasing the scent, refusing to consider all the good Valjean had done, refusing to consider the man he was. 

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with Valjean on this point. “How often do you bathe?”

Valjean looked up at him again in surprise and confusion as to where the conversation had gone.

“I have noticed you carry buckets back here almost every day. It is for you to bathe, is it not?” Javert assumed that Valjean was still paranoid about the sewer-stench. Javert considered his own cleanliness to be above average - one of the many things he had committed to in an attempt to distance himself from his distasteful beginnings - but filling a bath every two days? That was excessive. 

Valjean blushed at this observation. “Yes. I know it is an indulgence-”

“That's exactly my point. You live in a shed and yet you bathe each day.”

“It is not a shed and I do not do it _every_ day.”

“I do not care if you do. You are missing my point. If you are able to ‘indulge’ that, why can you not accept other things that you desire or that would do you good?” Javert had already noticed Valjean's propensity to eat black bread or forgo eating at all if he was only feeding himself. Not that Javert allowed himself any indulgences besides the occasional pinch of snuff, but if Valjean _was_ such a good man, a better man than he, didn't Valjean deserve happiness and those small indulgences that may grant it?

“It is different…”

“How so?” Javert wouldn't let him escape this question.

Valjean inhaled deeply, his gaze locked onto the clenched hands in his lap, as it often was. Valjean rarely looked Javert in the eye. Javert could not blame him. 

“It was filthy there… in Toulon. After the Bishop brought my soul, I cleansed myself as soon as I was able, ridding myself of the bagne. I needed to try and be respectable. Be a man again, a member of society.” He huffed a humourless laugh. “I think I fancied myself baptised and born anew. I… I have to be clean. If my body is cleansed it feels easier that my soul might be… It is foolish, I know.”

“I did not mean to remind you. But… it is not foolish. I understand it.”

Valjean did look at him then, perhaps surprised that Javert would truly understand anything about him. But Valjean had been honest with him and seemed to be addicted to confessing now he had someone to confess to. It seemed only right, only just, to confess in turn. 

“I was born in a prison you know,” he muttered. 

“I did not know,” Valjean leaned forward and now it was Javert that could not maintain eye contact. 

“Surely you look at me and see the bastard son of a gypsy.”

“You know I do not. I see an Inspector of the first class.”

Javert rolled his eyes and gave Valjean a look of disdain. “Only because you know me as such. And it's true, as much as I try to be something else I will always be the son of a gypsy and a convict, birthed in a cell. That is an inescapable fact of my past.” Javert hung his head. “Scrubbing your skin clean does not always make people look upon you more favourably - especially when it doesn't make your complexion any lighter.”

There was a moment of silence as Valjean contemplated this. Javert felt a hand rest on his arm and was about to snap something about not needing Valjean's pity but Valjean spoke first. 

“You will despise me for saying so, but we are more alike than I would have thought.”

“Being behind bars does not make me a criminal.”

“That is not what I meant,” Valjean sighed. “I am more than a criminal, I've had other experiences in my life. I thought you were beginning to see this, hence your… predicament.” A polite avoidance of any number of terms Javert would have used instead: _attempt on your life, damnation_....

Javert dug his nails into his palms and scowled at his knees. 

“I see. It is still difficult for you to admit even though, in your heart, you know the truth.”

“I have no heart,” Javert spat. 

“That is nonsense. You prayed for the boy.”

“Not that it will do him much good.”

“You do not believe God will listen?”

“I do not believe he will listen to _me_.”

“Why not?”

Javert groaned. “Have I not said that I am damned?”

“ _Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies_.” Valjean spoke with a soft, captivating reverence. “Redeemeth thy life from destruction, Javert. He forgives you. God is merciful and forgiving.”

“How can you say that - _believe_ that - after all that has happened to you?”

“I have endured trials, but I have learnt the word of God and I try as best I can. I did steal the Bishop’s silver you know-”

“You did _what_?!” Javert barked, glaring at him. Here was Valjean telling him he was more than a criminal and yet rubbing Javert's nose in that very fact. Was Valjean _trying_ to drive him mad?

“It is the most shameful moment of my life. You did not see me then, when I was released. I was so bitter and hateful… oh Javert,” Valjean hid his face behind his hand, “I fear I could have been everything you thought me to be.”

Javert's mouth was dry and a dull ache crept into his skull. He found even at this confession, if he had been in possession of his cuffs, he would not have been able to shackle Valjean. Why? How terrible! How far would this go? How many bad deeds did it take to overbalance Valjean's goodness? If he were to commit a murder would Javert be obliged to bury the body? That was ridiculous, Javert would not sink so far and by Valjean's own admission this had been the worst act he had committed but Javert still found it concerning. What was the limit of this new conscience?

“But, as I'm sure you know, after I had been caught the Bishop said he had gifted that silver to me. He even gave me what I had not taken and instructed I use it to become a better man. I did not know what to do with myself in the face of such kindness…”

“You followed his instruction,” Javert said as he looked at the candlesticks, understanding their importance for the first time. Following instruction was something Javert was more than capable of - surely he could obey his spiritual superior as he had done his ranking superior. 

“I have tried my best. It is true I do not understand you Javert, not completely, but I think I have some understanding in this. I can help you if that is what you wish.”

Javert frowned. He had to admit he did require assistance in knowing and understanding what was desired of him and Valjean knew much about interpreting the ways of God it seemed, in a way that was much easier than confessing to a priest. He gave a curt nod. 

“Very well then. How familiar are you with the bible?”

“I have read it.”

“But not received any joy from it,” a hesitant smile twitched at the corner of Valjean's mouth. 

“I do not find reading pleasurable.”

“Ah! That is a problem indeed. Perhaps I can recite some of its beauty to you and convince you of the benefits of mercy, and that God himself is merciful.”

“You may try,” Javert challenged. 

Valjean rose from his chair with what Javert could only say was excitement. Perhaps Valjean required purpose as much as himself. He returned quickly, bible in hand, sat down and flipped through the pages to find what he needed. 

“I will continue this psalm: _The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy. He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniquities. For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy toward them that fear him. As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us._ "

He looked up to Javert, triumphant. 

“You read well,” was all Javert would concede. 

“For a convict you mean,” Valjean's voice cooled. 

Perhaps he had meant that but he found his correction was still the truth: “For anyone.”

Valjean hurridley turned some more pages now that he had Javert's attention and willingness to listen. 

“Ah! Here, Isaiah: _Wash you, make you clean; put away the evil of your doings from before mine eyes; cease to do evil; Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow. Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool._ ”

Javert pondered this. The scarlet and crimson sins bringing to mind the garb of the prisoners in Toulon - what Valjean was forced to wear to mark him as sinful - and white… 

Valjean's hair which had lost all colour the very day of the Champmathieu trial. Was that the moment he was completely redeemed in the eyes of God? With that sacrifice, that martyring of himself? Javert suddenly felt humbled by Valjean's presence. 

“Javert? You see? If you make an effort to do well and help the unfortunate, God will forgive.”

“... _Come now, and let us reason together_ ,” Javert smirked. “I will try and be reasonable.”

Valjean smiled, dropping his gaze to the pages once more. The tension that was always between them seemed to have finally relaxed. There was something different forming around them and Javert found he would not mind Valjean speaking to him of the bible for the rest of the evening. 

He realised he had not seen Valjean smile before - not like that. In Montreuil it always seemed a mere pleasantry, something he was required to do to be amicable. Javert supposed the constant underlying fear had prevented it from holding true joy, even when the young children would follow him and ask him to make straw dolls. How peculiar that Valjean’s smile would contain a hesitant joy for Javert of all people. 

In the back of his mind, Javert wondered if Valjean would grace him with such a smile again. 

\-----

The following day marked a week since Javert had been in residence at the hut. He had not been outside of the property unless he needed to fetch water (he assisted Valjean in carrying buckets to the house for his regular bathing). Valjean returned from his morning walk of charity and this time he stopped at the door of the hut before he went to the house. Javert opened it before he knocked. 

“Oh! Good morning Javert. Would you care to breakfast with me? I have been to the market. We do not have to have a discussion just yet if you do not wish it,” Valjean rambled, clutching his basket with nervousness. 

“I assume you would wish for us to eat here?” Javert said, stepping aside to allow him in. Valjean nodded. “I am not going to suggest we switch places, I would not be able to stand you giving your home over to me and residing here. I do not know how your daughter could stomach it.”

Valjean set the basket and the bundle of clothes he was carrying under his arm on the table. Javert was momentarily distracted by all of the food Valjean began to unpack: soft bread, jam, honey, cheese, cold slices of meat, cakes… Javert shook his head in disbelief as his stomach twinged in hunger. Breakfast! He did not think he had ever had such a breakfast. 

Then he did become aware of the bundle of clothes - that they were undoubtedly Javert's own clothes. Valjean saw him looking. 

“I was in the area and… well, you require more clothes.”

Javert wasn't listening. There was a letter on top of the clothes. Javert recognised the hand. 

> _To Inspector Javert, or his caretaker if he is incapacitated._

He could not bring himself to pick it up. 

“I did not think to check for any correspondence since you said you had resigned… Your portress was very angry with me that I had not given her my address last time, or notified your superiors, or given the particulars of your condition.”

“I am glad you did not do any of those things. The woman is a gossip.”

Valjean looked pale, Javert thought it must be the notion of Javert's superiors trying to find his residence. He sat at the table and gestured for Valjean to do the same. 

“You invited me to eat with you.”

“You will not open it?” Valjean looked as if he were relieved. 

“It may put me off my food.”

Valjean frowned. “What do you think it is?”

“I do not know…” Javert glanced at the letter again before shaking his head and reaching for the knife to cut the bread. 

Too focused on the letter, he did not consider how he was eating, grabbing for more as soon as he had swallowed. Valjean passed things to him and he ate them without question. It was only when he realised there were two slices of bread remaining that he felt shame creep up on him. 

“Forgive me, I was not paying attention. I hope you have not been giving me everything. You will have what is left.”

“It is alright Javert. You know… I liked when you would concede to dine with me after your reports. I could know you had eaten well enough.”

Javert huffed. “You are a mother hen. It is terrible.”

Valjean graced him with a small smile. “A healthy inspector has the strength to continue his excellent work.”

“Eat your bread you foolish man.” Javert muttered as his cheeks grew warm. How absurd to speak with such sentimentality about such a thing. 

He gave into the call of the letter as Valjean finished his meal. Javert picked it up and realised there were in fact two letters. He opened the first. 

> _It has come to my attention that Inspector Javert has been missing since the events of 6th June. Inspector, please make your presence known at the stationhouse as soon as possible, or send this man who is said to be caring for you in your stead. I would like to know that you are well and we must have a discussion._
> 
> _Gisquet has shown me your last communique. I do not know what to make of it but I fear the barricade has taken its toll on you. I do not have to tell you it offended Gisquet but his concern has now lessened his anger._
> 
> _We would have you back as soon as possible, there is much to be done and you are still one of our best, if I do say so myself, even with your recent peculiar behaviours._
> 
> _If you are unable to come to the station, send your current location and I will come to you._
> 
> _I will wait in anticipation of your response._
> 
> _\- M. Chabouillet_

Javert breathed deeply and read the letter again. He owed his patron much, it was thanks to him that Javert had attained a position in the police. Chabouillet had always seen his worth and this was how Javert repaid him? By bringing shame upon him?

He opened the next letter, knowing that it would be from Gisquet, and would have been sent before Chabouillet’s. 

> _Javert._
> 
> _What is the meaning of this? These criticisms you label as suggestions. I should not have to tell you that there are more pressing matters at hand. You are not at your residence. No one has seen you. If not for you leaving this outrageous statement I'd have thought you had been killed by the insurgents._
> 
> _Javert you must report back at once._
> 
> _I expect to hear from you._
> 
> _\- M. Gisquet_

“What is it?” Valjean asked, voice cautious. 

“You might say it is a sign.” Javert folded the letters and put them in his pocket. “I believe I will be returning to work.”

“This very moment?”

“Do not look so stricken! You told me to wait for a sign and here it is. Good Lord, I am not going to arrest you!”

“Ah, thank you.” Javert rolled his eyes but Valjean still didn't look particularly reassured. “You will do good work Javert. Better work.”

“We shall see,” Javert stood and hesitated. “Thank you. For your counsel.” He made a gesture to the evidence of their breakfast. “And your hospitality.”

“You are welcome, you are welcome anytime Javert. If you still require my… counsel I would be… quite glad of it.”

“Very well.” Javert made his way to the door. 

“Wait, you should take these. There was really no reason for me to bring them after all.” Valjean handed him his clothes after Javert had put on his hat but he did not release his hold of them. “You will tell me? What happens when you go back?”

“If you wish me to. _Au revoir_ , Valjean.”

With that, Javert stepped outside and this time, the path before him was straight and clear. He left the hut and Valjean behind without another glance to head back to his old life and see if he could make it anew. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was common practice to bathe in cold water so Valjean's 'indulgence' isn't even particularly comfortable...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to avatoh for betaing :'>

Valjean remained at the hut the following day, in case Javert returned. He did not. He was surely very busy and Valjean hoped he had not been disciplined for his absence. 

The solitude Valjean found himself in was not a welcome one, the small space felt cold and empty despite the summer sun through the window. He ate little, if only to give himself the strength to return to the Gillenormand household the next morning for news of the boy’s condition that he could pass onto Cosette. 

He always made himself as presentable as possible for his daily visit to the Gillenormand’s to give them the best impression of Cosette. The grandfather had been suspicious at Valjean's regular visits at first, likely believing that Valjean was ingratiating himself on the family to ensure Cosette's betrothal and gain access to the Gillenormand fortune (if they even had a fortune at all), but he was more than happy to learn of Valjean’s own savings. Gillenormand insisted that Cosette should visit but Valjean countered that it would break her heart to see Marius in such a condition. 

It was selfish, Cosette would be there in an instant if she had permission and she would wish to tend to the boy herself, but Valjean wanted to keep her for as long as he could. It would not do for her to be unduly distressed. 

When Valjean returned to Rue de l’Homme Armé that afternoon with the unchanged news of Marius’ condition, he remained there. Cosette appeared happy to have him, despite her sorrows, and was glad her father’s ‘friend’ had recovered. Still, Valjean felt he would never know true happiness again. Cosette was forever distracted by her worry and her prayers for Marius and soon she would be gone from him entirely. 

He attempted to raise both of their spirits and live life as they had done before. He did not wish to waste however much time he had left with her, so he took her for walks - to the market, past the Seine (for his own peace of mind on the subject of Javert) and even to the Luxembourg, where Cosette would reminisce about the boy with a bitter-sweet air. 

A week after Javert's departure, they were seated on a bench in the gardens listening to the pleasant song of small birds. Cosette gazed at an empty bench across the path, likely imagining the boy shyly looking back. She sighed, coming out of her memory and turned to her father. 

“We are not going to England, are we Papa?”

There was a sorrow in her eyes and Valjean could tell she had resigned herself to her fate whatever his answer may be. It pained him deeply that this future she had prepared would not involve him. She would remain in Paris whichever decision he chose. He held her hand. 

“Of course not my dear.”

She embraced him and Valjean held her firmly, savouring each act of love toward him that she was still willing to give. Her head lifted from his shoulder.

“Oh, Papa! Look, it is your friend the Inspector.”

Cosette parted from him to wave to the stern, angular form of Javert before Valjean could react. 

“Cosette! He is working.”

Yet, to his surprise, Javert strode towards them and Valjean's heart thudded in his ears. He instinctively turned away, angling the brim of his hat to hide his face, forever fearful of being recognised in public - especially by Javert. 

“Mademoiselle.” 

The sharp clarity of Javert's voice made him dizzy, made him want to run, to scale walls and fences and hide for another few years. 

“Inspector! You look well.”

Valjean forced himself to look at Javert, who seemed puzzled by Cosette's statement, as if he had never looked well in his life. Valjean didn't suppose anyone had told him so. He was back in his caped greatcoat, a dark cravat tied with precision at his throat, and a sleek, polished cane in his hand. 

“You do,” Valjean agreed. There was a certain severe elegance to Javert's precision that was in the way he moved and spoke and presented himself.

Seeing Javert settled his nerves somewhat, and when their gazes met, Javert was not scowling or sneering, he looked… uncertain. Valjean preferred that look, if nothing else it put them on equal footing. Javert fiddled with his cane. 

“I apologise for not being true to my word. I have been very busy and when it appeared that you were no longer residing at Rue Plumet… I did not wish to intrude.”

“Nonsense, Inspector! You must be a very fine man indeed to be a friend of my father’s and I believe you should be welcome in our home any time. Isn't that right Papa?”

Javert's gaze hadn't left him as Cosette was talking and his eyes narrowed as he awaited Valjean's response. 

“Of course!” Valjean blurted feeling somewhat flustered. He was still unused to being in such close quarters with Javert, especially now when he looked every inch the police inspector Valjean had always feared. “If… If you still require assistance and discussions of morality.”

Suddenly Javert looked frightfully weary, his shoulders drooped and he inclined his head. “I do.”

“Well! All of that sounds terribly dull. Will you dine with us again Inspector, to give you a reprieve from Papa’s somber conversation?”

“Cosette, we were not arranging for him to join us this very evening-”

“And whyever not? I think you really ought to keep the company of your peers more often, Papa. So long as the Inspector isn't busy, of course.”

“The Inspector is very busy.”

“The Inspector can speak for himself,” Javert cut in. “I am only ever busy if I am working.”

“And are you working this evening?” Cosette asked sweetly. 

Javert hesitated before his reply, shifting his gaze to the foliage over Valjean's shoulder. “I am not.”

“There!” Cosette clapped her hands together. “We will see you at 6 o’clock at Number 7, Rue de l’Homme Armé?”

“You will.” Javert bowed stiffly. “I must return to my duties, excuse me.”

Javert did not look at him again, but turned on his heel with a sweep of his greatcoat, and rounded a corner out of sight. Valjean released a breath he didn't know he had been holding and Cosette patted his arm. 

“It is good for you,” Cosette insisted. “I cannot give you all of the conversation you require and I do not want you to be lonely if I were to visit Marius. I want you to be happy, just as you wish to see me happy, and I can't help but notice how sad you seem of late. Not that my mood is any better than yours, only I would not have you carry my worries. You try your best to keep me in positive spirits and I would try and do the same for you with the help of the Inspector.”

Valjean squeezed her hand. “My child, my Cosette, how sweet it is that you care for me so. Just your presence beside me is enough to make an old man happy.”

“Oh Papa, you are too modest, too kind, too gentle! I say you should have more, that you deserve more.”

“Ah, but Cosette there is no more than you. You are the world to me.”

She embraced him again, rested her head on his shoulder and asked him to tell her about the birds. She could not see the joyful tears shining in her father's eyes. 

\-----

Once they had returned home, Valjean could not stop thinking about Javert arriving to dine with them that evening. It made him anxious and unable to concentrate, if he had been at Rue Plumet he would have resorted to gardening, as it was he polished the candlesticks instead. It wasn't only anxiety, Valjean acknowledged, still polishing the first candlestick even though it was pristine - he was looking forward to conversing with Javert again. 

They were evenly matched with intelligence that they had not derived from schooling but from experience and hard work. Valjean never felt dim-witted in his company and, despite Javert's frequent interruptions, he seemed to be a very good listener. 

Valjean moved on to the other candlestick and pondered passages in the bible that might be of assistance in their discussion. For the first time since before the barricade he did not worry over Cosette, alone in her room, saying her prayers and shedding quiet tears, or feel his own sorrows about their future. He was so deep in thought that he did not notice this change. 

Valjean was studying the bible, marking pages, when there was a knock at the door. The clock chimed six. He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Javert: ever-precise. 

Valjean rose from his chair, placed the bible on the seat, straightened his cuffs, neatened his cravat and smoothed a hand through his hair. It was folly to attempt to make himself presentable - part of Javert would always only ever see the convict Valjean had been. He sighed and went to the door. When he gripped the handle he suddenly had a vision of opening the door to reveal Javert, the brim of his hat shadowing his gleaming eyes, showing him an unpleasant wolf’s-grin full of teeth, cuffs in hand and two gendarmes behind him. It didn't matter, he tried to tell himself, he had wanted to be arrested. Even so, his heart pounded too fast, he was much too hot yet his skin was clammy and he could not moved the handle. He could not move at all. 

“Papa?” Cosette called from her bedroom. “The Inspector is at the door-”

Valjean opened the door in one quick, rough movement before Cosette came to see what was the matter. 

Javert was halfway back down the path but the noise of the door made him turn back. They stood looking at one another, five or six paces between them. Javert was scowling this time but in a way which told Valjean ‘ _you have made me look a fool_ ’, with no aggression or mean-spirited sentiment. 

“Good evening, Javert.”

That made Javert step forward and incline his head, removing his hat in the process. “Va- Fauchelevent.”

There was a question in his eyes when he looked up and a slight grimace on his mouth, as if the name carried a bitter taste. A lie pulled forth from an honest tongue - it made Valjean recall Sister Simplice lying to Javert to assist Valjean's escape. The church and the law both corrupted for his sake!

“Valjean.” Javert murmured. “Do you intend for us to have a discussion on your doorstep or do you wish me to leave?”

“No, no. Please come in. Forgive me.” Valjean ushered him inside, closed the door and took his hat. 

“Stop asking my forgiveness.”

“My apologies,” he caught Javert's glare, “oh, um, very well. I shall try. Dinner will be ready shortly, would you like a glass of wine?”

Valjean did not drink wine often, in fact he could not recall the last time he had taken any alcohol. He always wanted his senses sharp and his wits about him, but this was how one was social was it not? And if Javert was here to converse with him then he did not need to be on guard or be prepared to flee. 

“Very well.”

Valjean led him to the dining room and Javert sat at the table while Valjean found the wine. Valjean poured them both a glass and sat opposite him. Javert stared into the dark liquid and the silence grew awkward. 

“How is your work?” Valjean ventured. “You say it is busy. Difficult cases?”

“Not especially, but there is much to do. Some streets still need clearing, and we are tasked with rooting out surviving insurgents. On top of the usual duties of a policeman of course. Blood on the streets makes the rats crawl out of the gutter for a taste of it, hoping they will be hidden in the confusion and that our attention is elsewhere. Do not look at me like that. I did not save the boy’s life to give it away.”

“I saw Thenardier in the sewer that day. He was robbing corpses.”

Javert's expression darkened. “Ah yes, I am still looking for that snake. Following him is what led me to that sewer grate.”

“And he sent me to that exit hoping I would be caught…”

“More fool him. Things turned out quite differently.”

“That man has plagued me for far too many years. I fear he will be my ruin-”

“Dinner is served!” Cosette declared brightly, helping Toussaint carry the bowls into the room. “Good evening, Inspector.”

Javert nodded. “Good evening.” He looked back at Valjean, “and that will not happen. Not that we’re now...” he made a gesture back and forth between them, “in cooperation.”

Valjean opened his mouth to query what the exact meaning of this statement was but decided against it. This was no place for a discussion that touched so closely on his past and he did not want to speak Thenardier's name in the presence of Cosette. 

“Ah, is my father fretting again? I'm afraid he is a worrier, Inspector.” She placed a bowl of stew before him. 

“And with due cause,” Javert countered much to Valjean’s surprise. “You should always trust your father’s judgement Mademoiselle. He has keen instincts.”

“I would trust my father with anything.” Cosette took her seat beside Valjean. “He is a good man. The best of men.”

Valjean shifted uncomfortably, dipping his spoon in and out of the stew Toussaint had served him. “Ah, it is only because you have not had the pleasure of meeting truly good men.”

“Stop it,” Javert grumbled. “She is right.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Cosette smiled at Javert for his assistance. “May I say grace, Papa?”

“Of course, my dear.”

She reached out her hands, Valjean clasped her right and Javert stared at her proffered left hand as if it had extra fingers. They had not joined hands the last time, Valjean had clasped his hands in front of him and murmured a prayer for them all to avoid this situation. Valjean captured Javert's hand in his own before Javert's hesitance drew attention. He felt Javert flinch but he allowed Cosette to take his other hand. Valjean noticed that Javert's hand was limp in hers, yet he gripped Valjean’s hand firmly. Caught in Javert's grasp at last although it seemed as if Javert would gladly have Valjean rescue him from this situation. 

“ _Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name._ ” Valjean closed his eyes to Cosette’s sweet voice. “ _Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen._ ”

Perhaps it was Valjean’s imagination, but he thought Javert’s fingers curled tighter at the word ‘forgive’. “Amen,” Valjean murmured and opened his eyes. 

Javert quickly retracted his hands and took up his spoon with a grunt. Valjean could still feel the warmth of Javert's palm on his skin. Despite Valjean’s knowledge of the Bible, he did not often recite prayers directly from it. His relationship with God was more personal, he spoke from his soul when he prayed, but he had found God in his own way - Cosette had been tutored in the ways of the Lord in the Convent. She was not often so expressly devout but she was stricter in her prayers of late, perhaps to increase her chances of her prayers for Marius being heeded.

“Your decision not to go to England - is it because of the Inspector?” Cosette asked after a few mouthfuls. “You do not have to worry about bad people outside our home when you have such a good friend in the police.”

Javert narrowed his eyes over his spoon at Valjean. “England.”

“It was folly,” Valjean said quickly. “I worry too much, as you say. Our home is here, in Paris.”

“I'm glad you think so,” Cosette smiled. “And please Inspector, tell him he must tell you if he has suspicions!”

Javert had to finish chewing before he could respond. “You must. I am in a position to be of assistance now.”

Did he mean a better moral position or that he had decided to take up his position in the police again? Perhaps both. Perhaps only that he was in the improved position of not being deceased. Valjean frowned at his stew. Did Javert still think of it - still think his life was not worth keeping? Valjean didn't suppose such wounds of the soul healed overnight. 

Once they had finished eating, Cosette bid Javert a good night and returned to her room. Perhaps Valjean should have been more concerned over how solitary she had become - but as someone who had lived most of his life alone, he did not see it as an issue, so long as she was not clearly upset. Her good humour towards him after learning of his ‘heroics’ at that barricade had also blinded him to her more somber moods. 

Valjean led Javert to the living room so they could sit beside the fireplace, although it held only ashes. Valjean contemplated lighting it but the days had been warm of late. He set their glasses and the bottle of wine he had carried from the dining room on a small table between them. Valjean refilled the glasses and sat down. He looked at Javert who frowned at him and did not move. 

“You had a question of morals for me?”

Javert sighed and took his seat but he did not relax into it, he sat forward with his shoulders bunched up. 

“You ask me how my work is going. It is frustrating, it is slow. At every turn, at every crime I witness, I doubt. Are my actions just? Does this man speak the truth? Is this a wrong that should be…” Javert cringed at the idea, “allowed?” He snatched up his glass and drank. 

“That is good, Javert. And no wrong should ever be ‘allowed’, you are quite right, but circumstances should be taken into account to ensure the punishment is just.”

“Good? It is a nightmare! Showing hesitation or uncertainty is a sign of weakness. A policeman must be respected to do his work.”

“But these decisions are not to be taken lightly, they can change the course of people's lives. You have to be certain.”

“I no longer trust my instincts,” Javert grimaced. 

“What made you accept the offer to come here?”

“What? That is irrelevant. I have questions for you and we are in the process of that conversation.”

“But what did your instincts say? Do you… trust me?”

Javert snorted and glared into the dark mirror of his wine. 

“Your instincts are working fine. Do not doubt them, but it is right not to make judgements solely on a gut feeling.”

“I know that! I have not been incompetent! It is only...” The crease in Javert's brow deepened. “How many of these men are another Jean Valjean? Mayors in the making - if only they had the means, fathers of foundlings… _good_ men.” He spat it as if it were an insult. “Some men are no good, Valjean - will never be any good - fallen too far and rotten to the bone. I _know_ this and yet-” he made an exasperated noise and dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing his face before tugging at the hair that fell over his forehead.

Valjean was left stupified by the suggestion that Javert might consider _him_ a truly good man, but Javert would not have dined or drank with him if he did not think so. This gave Valjean a greater resolve to help him. Javert was a good man too, he had just been misguided in his blind, unquestioning devotion to the law. For them to be sitting together thus - as _companions_ \- it was a wonder, a miracle perhaps. Javert had come so far and been through so much in these past weeks, Valjean felt something akin to pride in his breast and he sent a silent prayer to God in thanks that they had both lived to see and experience this change. He was no Bishop of Digne but he would try. He picked up his bible. 

“ _I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins. Put me in remembrance: let us plead together: declare thou, that thou mayest be justified._ We are only human Javert. Mistakes are made, we can only try our best, I know you are willing to always do right and that you never seek to do wrong.”

Javert looked up at him and said nothing. Valjean flipped to another page he had dog-eared. 

“ _He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea._ ”

“Or the Seine,” Javert muttered, refilling his glass. 

Valjean did not rise to it. “Yes.” Javert's head snapped up in surprise. “You cast your sins into the river Javert, and then you turned away from it to repent.”

Javert hummed into his drink. “You should not be fearful - of me or Thenardier,” he said, suddenly diverting the conversation. He scoffed at Valjean's frown. “I see the way you look at me - how you looked at me when you answered the door - it is fear. It is justified I suppose but I will not take anything from you and you _must_ tell me if you see Thenardier again. I will put the noose on him myself if I must.”

“Javert!”

Javert rolled his eyes. “I will not commit murder, Valjean. It is only an expression of my desire for him to meet his fate.”

“He has children.”

“Poorly kept and better off without him, I should think.”

“You do not know that.”

“I do not but I have enough experience to make an educated guess. There is God’s justice and God’s mercy but you cannot let it become naivety.”

Experience. Yes, Javert had personal experience of such things. Valjean couldn't imagine this stern man as a boy, trapped in the darkness of a cell he had no cause to be in. “It must have been difficult.”

“What?”

“Your life.”

Javert looked away. “It is of no consequence anymore. I worked hard to be in the police. That is my life and I am glad of it.”

“As am I,” Valjean said softly and found that he meant it. Javert looked incredulous. 

“I do not see how you could be. If I hadn't been in the police it is likely you would still be mayor in Montreuil-sur-Mur.”

“We cannot be sure of that and… I would not have been myself. We would not be here now. Let us not dwell on the past.”

Valjean stood to retrieve another candle, he needed more light, shadows danced behind Javert and shadowed his face and it made Valjean uncomfortable. He had to stop and steady himself against the table. 

“Oh.”

“Do not look so surprised. It is only the effect of the alcohol.”

“I am unused to it,” Valjean said with a sheepish smile. “I did not think I had that much.”

“I imagine I am worse off,” Javert grimaced at his empty glass. How many times had he drained it? “I should go.”

He stood slowly and Valjean followed him to the door. Javert shoved his hat on his head and opened the door. He hesitated and turned to face Valjean. 

Valjean clasped Javert’s hand and grasped just above his elbow in a friendly manner but Javert startled as if Valjean had held a brand to his arm instead. Valjean released him immediately and took a step back. He dropped his gaze to the floor. Of course, no matter if Javert might believe it was possible that Valjean might have been redeemed, Valjean could never erase the convict he had been. To associate with him was one thing, to share a friendly camaraderie was quite another. They were not _friends_.

“Good evening, Inspector.”

Javert gave him a sharp nod in return and Valjean watched him disappear into the night. He was not glad to lose sight of him, in fact he felt something that could almost be regret. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one took so long because it was double the length and I only just realised it made more sense to cut it in half  
> (and I do not condone the dog-earing of pages. Javert, arrest this man)


	5. Chapter 5

Over those two months of early summer they developed something of a routine: Javert would often dine with Valjean and Cosette on Saturday evenings and then the two men would be left alone at the empty hearth and Javert would tell him of his latest trials. As more time passed, these were not the sole subjects he sought Valjean’s counsel on, they became complete descriptions of his day (including many extended rants) and Valjean was always riveted. He did not have much conversation to share here, he did not have much of a life outside of the walls of his home any more, yet that made Javert’s information of what was happening in the city even more necessary to him.

By the end of July, Javert would occasionally visit on other days of the week with a question of morals. He still always arrived for dinner on Saturdays and within a few weeks he stopped even arriving with queries of moral justice - just a ‘ _good evening_ ’ - and Valjean spoke of Cosette, Javert spoke of his work. Neither of them spoke of the past and Valjean was always ‘Fauchelevent’.

In August, the weather was hot and bright and they began taking walks together around the neighbourhood. Valjean had agreed that he and Cosette could visit the Gillenormand household occasionally but after the first few visits he found it painful to accompany her, to see her dote over Marius so lovingly. From then on, it was arranged that she would go with Toussaint and Valjean found his time occupied by Javert instead. Javert did not know much of nature and this was a subject Valjean was more than qualified conversing in.

At the start of September, the doctor declared Marius was out of danger. Cosette was overjoyed, as expected, and Valjean felt his sorrows begin to creep back in. Cosette visited Marius every day, some days it did not feel like Valjean had seen her at all. He stopped going out, stopped eating decent meals, but then Saturday rolled around and Valjean’s desire for Jarvet’s company became overwhelming.

Javert never let him down. A knock sounded with the chime of the clock and Valjean hurried to the door. 

“Javert!” He said with a smile. When had speaking his name form a smile on his lips? When had his greeting changed from ‘Inspector’ to his name?

Javert snorted and stepped inside, handing Valjean his hat. 

“Cosette is visiting Marius this afternoon.”

“Isn't she always?”

“It seems that way, yes.” He could not stop the melancholy at the edges of his tone. He closed his eyes. “And when he is well, they shall marry.”

“Is he really so disagreeable?” Javert raised an eyebrow as they went to the living room to take their usual seats. Valjean had already prepared the tea in his anticipation. Javert would undoubtedly find Marius disagreeable - he was one of the students at the barricade where Javert had been captured, but Javert seemed surprised Valjean would be judgemental.

“No… Well, I have not had much opportunity to know him.” He did not say that he did not care to know him. 

“Ah, I believe it is the natural way of things for a parent to feel sorrow when a girl moves truly into womanhood.”

Valjean couldn't help but sigh. He poured their tea, Javert never took anything to sweeten it and Valjean was never certain if that was because he did not like it or that he did not allow himself that pleasure. 

“You do not want her to leave,” Javert said. 

“Of course I don't. But that is the way of things, as you say.”

“Do not tell me you are afraid if she does not live with you she would not _choose_ to see you?”

Valjean sipped his tea. 

“You fool,” Javert spat. “You have done much for her and even _I_ can see how she cares for you.”

“You are right, as always,” Valjean demurred. He was in Javert’s company now and he did not want to think of Cosette’s future. He thought of a change of topic. “But tell me, how goes the forgery case?”

Javert did not look particularly pleased at Valjean escaping his line of enquiry but he allowed it.

“The noose is tightening. Mark my words, by next Saturday when you ask me, they shall be in custody.”

“They?”

“Oh yes, it is most certainly a gang. Well, my theory is one mastermind who is prominent and close enough to a few people of note to have their correspondence, who then has an unfortunate or two practice the hand and signature endlessly until it is perfected. It is possible they do not even know what they are writing. Merely copying a series of shapes.”

“And… you would take them into custody?”

“For questioning of course. Until the whole truth is clear to me.”

“And if your theory is correct?”

“Then they would be considered victims, surely. Their ignorance used and preyed upon for nefarious means.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Valjean could only stare at him. “How could they be guilty of a crime they had no knowledge of committing?”

“Javert…”

“Do not argue with me, V-Fauchelevent. It is just. Would you expect me to compensate them and have them schooled? That is not within my power or my finances.”

The efforts Javert was making! Consistently using Valjean’s false name (probably to avoid making an error if they were in company), having more leniency in his work… And yet he did not seem to realise it. If these things were coming naturally to him, he was indeed a truly changed man.

“You are a remarkable man,” Valjean smiled.

“What? And you are a foolish man who seldom makes any sense.”

Valjean’s smile gave way to a chuckle. “So you always tell me.”

“Then it would appear you have no intention of changing.”

“You would wish me to change?” His voice retained its humour but he could not feel that joy inside. Javert turned his saucer slightly back and forth with the tip of his index finger. 

“I would only have you make sense.”

“Thank you, Javert.”

Javert thrust his arms up in exasperation. “You see?! What sort of reaction is that?”

Valjean could not help but laugh again and wasn't that wonderful? That the man he had feared for so long could put him in such good humour?

“At least one of us is entertained,” Javert muttered, folding his arms, but it held no bite. “I will stay for dinner but I must be going as soon as we are done. I need to gather information tonight.”

“Apologies. We are later than usual, with Cosette and Toussaint being out longer than intended.”

“It is fine. The type of people I seek do not come out onto the streets this early.”

“You will send a note tomorrow?”

Javert rolled his eyes at Valjean’s concern. “If it will stop your fretting and getting and absurd ideas into your head, like running into the situation to ensure my safety, then yes.”

“Thank you.”

“I will not require rescuing. I am not some ninny of a student.”

“Good evening, father! Good evening, Inspector!” Cosette called from the front door. 

“Good evening, my dear.”

“Forgive my lateness,” she said, poking her head into the room. “I did not mean for you to wait for your dinner.”

“That is quite alright. I do not mean to be rude Mademoiselle, but I must be going after we have dined.”

“Oh. Of course, I do not want to keep you too long.”

Javert nodded to her before she hurried off to help Toussaint prepare the dinner. He did not ever speak much in front of Cosette. Javert fell into silence, lost in thought, looking at the doorway where Cosette had just been. 

\-----

Javert arrived at the house the following morning to tell Valjean in person that he had survived the night. In fact, he visited most days in Cosette’s continual absences. Valjean wondered if he had been waiting all along for opportunities where they would not be disturbed. Yet still, they did not often speak of the past, there was no reason they had to be alone. Valjean thought Javert much preferred one-to-one conversations, much like himself. Perhaps he found interacting with Cosette difficult from what had happen with Fantine… But no, Javert would not concern himself over that, would he?

“It is a fine day, would you accompany me on a walk?” Valjean asked over a cup of tea. 

“Yes, I have some time today.”

“How much time do you have?”

“What is the question you really wish to ask?”

“Ah,” Valjean looked into his cup. “I just thought about walking to the Luxembourg. But that will take some time. I used to visit often when I resided at Rue Plumet, it was so close.”

Javert stood and Valjean's heart sank. He should have been content to stay on this side of the river as they usually did or at least suggest a fiacre, but he thought the ‘charity’ of paying for one would deter Javert. He had made Javert uncomfortable and now he would leave-

“Do you wish to go or not? I will not be able to accompany you if you dally any longer.”

“Of course!” Valjean jumped up and went to retrieve his hat and coat. 

As easy as that, they were out walking the streets of Paris together. It never failed to surprise Valjean how easy it was, how readily Javert would agree to such things. 

Valjean felt more like an ordinary citizen with Javert by his side. He did not have to duck into alleys and avoid every potential interaction, although those instincts still came naturally to him. Javert would frown and tug him sharply by the sleeve if he caught him veering into shadows. Strangely it never felt like a shackle, but a line thrown to him to lead him safely through the city. 

He managed to give a few coins to those on the street, and Javert made no comment on it. It seemed unlikely that Javert had not noticed Valjean’s acts of charity as they walked but it was difficult to believe that Javert would turn a blind eye to such a thing. It wasn't until Javert took him by the sleeve once again and muttered ‘ _that is enough for one day_ ’ that Valjean knew for certain Javert was putting up with his peculiar behaviours. Valjean smiled and stuffed his purse back into his pocket.

Valjean made sure to avoid the Pont du Change to cross the Seine, but he was still concerned about going over the river. He did not wish to remind Javert of that night he had found him on the bridge. They used the Pont Notre-Dame instead, the bridge was wider than that of the Pont au Change, so Valjean could keep them well away from the edge. Thankfully Javert's mood did not seem to change, they crossed in companionable silence. 

It took them an half an hour to reach the Luxembourg but Javert did not seem to be in a hurry. It was peculiar, perhaps he did not have to work at all today or perhaps he would be on the hunt throughout the evening. Valjean did not ask. He wanted to forget the pressure of time and believe they could share the day together. 

“I cannot say that I have ever been here for leisure,” Javert mused. 

“That is because you are always working, watching people and not paying attention to plants or sculpture.”

Javert hummed in agreement as they walked past the fruit trees cultivated in their neat rows. “I have always appreciated the structure of it. How organised it is. Everything has its place.”

Valjean procured them pastries at a café, which Javert complained about but ate readily enough once they were seated by the roses experiencing their second bloom. Valjean watched the bees travel from flower to flower, single-minded in their mission. He took in the rest of the garden, some of the leaves on the trees were already beginning to turn brown due to the warmth of the summer. Thankfully that heat was passing and although the sun was shining, the warmth was not uncomfortable and the breeze was pleasant. 

They followed the paths around the remainder of the gardens and Valjean paused to watch a young girl floating a paper boat on the lake. She had a fine duck-egg blue dress and a matching ribbon in her hair and she laughed sweetly and clapped her small hands together when her tiny ship spiralled in a current. Valjean could not see her freckles or her red hair, all he saw was Cosette. There was a gentle tug on his sleeve and he turned to Javert. 

“Come, we should go.”

Valjean nodded, not being able to stop himself looking back over his shoulder at the girl and her boat. He closed his eyes and sighed, making his way to the exit, leaving the past behind. 

Their walk back led them on the road to the Pont du Change. Valjean had not considered their direction. He hesitated and stumbled over his own foot. Javert made an exasperated noise at his side. 

“Let us go back. I had forgotten I require more ink.”

“Val-chelevent. I have had to puzzle my way through your lies and truths long enough to name them accurately now, I should think. I do not get the urge to launch myself into the river whenever I see it, you fool. Let us continue.”

Javert reached out his hand, his fingers brushing against Valjean's upper arm, before pulling away when their gazes met. Valjean felt a smile spread across his face. Javert wanted to take _his_ arm to hurry him along, as if they were good friends. Valjean linked his arm through Javert's and felt him tense at the contact but he did not pull away. Instead he continued walking, Valjean matching his stride. 

“I tell you I am not going to jump, you do not have to restrain me.” Still, he did not disentangle their arms. 

Javert paused when they were parallel from where he had stood on the parapet the night everything had changed. He stepped towards it but Valjean pulled him back. Javert glared at him. 

“What did I say? I will not do it.”

Valjean relaxed and allowed them to go to the edge. Javert looked over into the water. 

“It looks so different in daylight…” Javert leaned further but Valjean tugged him back. Javert did not comment on it. “What would you have done if I had jumped?” He murmured, staring with unfocused eyes across the water. 

“I would have gone in after you.”

Javert snorted and looked at him in disbelief. “That would have been suicide, there was a reason I chose this spot. The current is merciless. You would have thrown your life away with mine.”

“Then it is a good job you didn't do it. But I am a strong swimmer and I believe the Lord would have enabled me to save you still. Come, let's us return to the house.”

Javert allowed Valjean to pull him away and back on their path to Rue de l’Homme Armé. Javert remained in a melancholy silence, even when they had crossed the bridge. 

“Javert…?”

Javert shook his head. “I am fine, it is only… I still do not understand why God would desire to have you save my soul. I am not deserving of all the sacrifices you are willing to make for me.”

“That is not your decision to make. I believe that you are, the Lord believes that you are. I will likely send you to sleep reading His word to you until you are convinced.”

“I will not fall asleep,” Javert promised, the corner of his mouth twitching up. 

\-----

A few weeks later, Javert refused to remove his coat, despite the return of unseasonably warm weather, his hands thrust into his pockets. 

“Javert. What is the matter? You are more irritable than usual. You cannot stay long?”

“I can stay,” Javert muttered. 

“Then why are you insistent on wearing your coat?”

Javert stuck his nose in the air. “That is none of your concern.”

“But I am already concerned.”

“You are infuriating. You say I am irritable and yet only irritate me further.”

“Ja-”

“No!” He snapped and Valjean flinched. “I say it does not concern you, that it is none of your business.”

“Alright…” Valjean tried to settle his heart and gather his thoughts. Javert being unpredictable and with a sour mood made him nervous. It was the kind of disposition that made a guard indiscriminate with the lash and a policeman hasty with his accusations. “If you are staying, you should sit.”

Sometimes Valjean wished he still resided at Rue Plumet, its secrecy and solitude were a comfort, and perhaps he and Javert could sit in the garden under the shade of the trees, but Cosette did not want to hide. What would the Gillernormands think of them if they lived in that wild, overgrown place? No, it would not do and besides, there were too many pleasant memories of Cosette there. How she loved that garden…

“Valjean!” Valjean startled, looking at Javert sitting in his usual chair beside the hearth. Javert looked displeased at himself for using the incorrect name. “Sit yourself,” he muttered. 

“I will get the pitcher of water from the kitchen. You must be hot.”

Valjean left the room before Javert could protest, to give himself some more time and distance before he had to deal with Javert's attitude. He extended his visit to the kitchen by dallying over choosing the appropriate glasses. He realised his own foolishness and that Javert would only grow _more_ irritable at his extended absence, so Valjean quickly grabbed two at random by the rim with his left hand, making them clink together. He took up the pitcher and made his way back to Javert. 

Javert looked up at him when he entered and his eyes were not so hard anymore. Some of his hair was loose, falling over his shoulder. It had been in disarray when Javert had arrived but Valjean imagined he had been tugging at it, as was his habit when he was frustrated. 

“I did not mean to startle you,” he muttered, looking back down to his lap. “I am not angry at you. I would not be here if I was.”

“I know.” Valjean set the glasses down and filled them. 

“I won't ever understand why you put up with me. To tolerate being spoken to so rudely in your own home. You should have some self respect.”

“I do not think you can help it,” Valjean said with a small smile. “And I appreciate your honesty.”

Valjean brought his glass to his lips and drank but when it became apparent Javert was not going to speak, Valjean tried to initiate a conversation. 

“I am glad your superiors notice your good work and did not accept your resignation.”

“If Chabouillet deems that I am still useful, I owe it to him to continue to work. My new manner of working has not drawn as much attention as I thought it would. I thought I would be brought in because they believed I had lost my nerve.”

“It shows you are still doing good work. Who is this Chabouillet? He must be a fine man.”

“He is the Secretary of the Prefect of Police and my patron.”

“The Secretary!”

“Settle down. He does not know of you.”

“I knew were a dedicated policeman but the Secretary! Your patron!”

“Really, it is not as if _I_ am the secretary. And it is not _that_ remarkable. Stop being foolish. He merely recognised the potential of this mongrel and I worked to prove he had not made a poor judgement. He was the one who got me assigned as Inspector in Montreuil. I was irritated that work would be slow, in that peaceful town with the good mayor, but I had to prove myself in the position before a transfer to Paris could be made possible.”

“Yet the position held more challenges than you imagined…”

“Indeed.”

They fell into silence and Javert reached for his glass, not realising he was exposing his hands. One was bandaged. He looked at Valjean, pausing before his hand curled around the glass.

“It is nothing. It is not deep.” He picked up the glass and drank. Evidently he did not wish to speak of his injury. 

“Well, now I have seen it you can remove your coat. Unless you have a collection of injuries across your body you wish to hide.”

“I said it is nothing,” Javert muttered, removing his coat and letting it fall in a heap on the floor. “It is only inconvenient being on my palm. It reopens whenever I stretch or curl my hand.”

That explained his inability to tie his hair as he usually did. Valjean remained silent and somber, looking at the bandages. 

“Do not look at me that way! It was… unfortunate. It has been dealt with.”

“Your hand or the perpetrator?”

“Both.”

“What has happened to him? The bange for the assault of a police officer?”

“No.”

“... The block?”

“No! Good God Valjean. Why must you test me so? I thought you were the one who believed me capable.”

“Capable of what? Change? I do.”

“It was only a gamin. Hired as a lookout for a robbery. We apprehended the thieves. I startled him that was all. He looked more surprised than me when his blade hit flesh. Looked as if his heart would give out at the very moment he realised he had assaulted Inspector Javert.”

“So what happened to him?”

“Well, it _was_ assault, intended or not, so I made him accompany me and see to my injury, see the damage it had done and bandage it. Numerous times. He was shaking too much to do it correctly. So he had to repeat it until it was satisfactory.”

Valjean allowed this information to sink in. He knew what it was like to be driven by fear, immediately lashing out, not thinking. The poor boy had probably thought the gang was after him to punish him for failing as their lookout. But it had been Javert instead and indeed, his face was quite startling - it had given Valjean enough nightmares - but Javert had not acted in anger nor in accordance to the laws of France. 

What had Valjean thought him capable of? Mercy. 

Valjean smiled softly. “That was just of you.”

“Was it?” Javert frowned. 

“Yes.”

“It is embarrassing to be stabbed by a gamin...”

“That's what all the fuss was about?” Valjean chuckled much to Javert's distaste. “You are too prideful Javert.”

Javert only glared into the water at the bottom of his glass. 

“Although your hair is in disorder. Please, allow me,” Valjean murmured and Javert grunted an affirmation despite not knowing what it was he was allowing. 

Valjean stepped around him to face his back and loosed his hair from its less-than perfect queue. Javert’s shoulders stiffened but he leant forward to give Valjean more room to work. Valjean smiled to himself at Javert's show of trust and treasured it. He ran the flat of his hands over Javert's silvery tresses to gather it together and found himself making more strokes than necessary. Javert's hair had always looked nicely kept, it's softness shouldn't have surprised him. He had never considered it, that was all. He combed his fingers through it, holding it together and patiently retying the ribbon. 

“I always used to brush Cosette’s hair,” he found himself babbling, although Javert’s hair was much thicker than Cosette’s. “I had to learn many things about the different ways of tying it - I knew nothing of young girls,” he chuckled awkwardly. 

“I think you'll realise I am not your daughter, or any other young girl,” Javert ground out. 

“O-of course, my apologies. I have never known of hair like yours. It is very striking.”

Javert made an unimpressed noise as he turned to regard him once he had been released. His complexion had darkened slightly, likely due to a rising temper, and Valjean hurried to counteract it. 

“It is much better now. I have tried to replicate how you tie it. It is not a style I have attempted before.” Perhaps that wasn't the correct thing to say but Javert nodded. 

“I expect you have done a better job of it than I.”

Valjean refilled their glasses and after a moment he returned to his seat. The silence strained between them. Javert sipped at his water. 

“As a boy it was all shorn off.” He said in response to a question Valjean had not asked but the curiosity must have been plain on his face. “Like a prisoner. Lice, as you well know. And keeping it close-cropped after showed good hygiene. A policeman is even less likely to acknowledge a gamin if he fears he will catch something from him.”

Valjean remained still and silent in his shock that Javert would impart his history so freely. He did not want to say anything that might intrude or dissuade him. 

“But… I am not a prisoner. I never was. I have never been bitten by a louse.”

That shouldn't have been surprising either, that even Javert’s hair was kept to distance himself from his beginnings and the life he might have led. Valjean leaned forward to run his fingers over the hair that covered Javert's forehead.

“It is handsome,” he said in reassurance.

Javert snorted and turned his face away, the ends of his hair flicking like the tail of an unruly horse and Valjean had to bite his lip to prevent himself laughing. 

“You've never suffered the bite of a louse?” He couldn't help but ask, leaning to the right to try and get Javert to face him again. 

“Well,” Javert huffed, “I don't recall. Fleas and bedbugs, certainly.”

“Fleas?”

Javert settled back in his seat and grimaced at the admission despite fleas being common creatures. 

“The cats at-” he hesitated, his eyes flicking to meet Valjean's. “There would be cats on the shore, waiting for the fishermen. Sometimes they'd get bold and sneak into the barracks in poor weather.”

He didn't need to say what particular patch of shoreline he was referring to. Valjean appreciated his avoidance of its name nonetheless. 

“I never knew you to be fond of cats.”

“I'm not,” Javert countered, curling his lip in distaste. “But I'd prefer one cat to twenty mice.”

“Ah, of course.”

“The cat cannot be fed, it needs to be hungry to be useful, so to keep a good mouser to your barracks it might be coaxed with safe housing. A cat does not know its place as a dog would, however, and will not be satisfied with the lesser place it deserves. If I ever found one on my bed it'd get my boot.”

How foolish of him to latch onto some whimsy of cats in a place where fellow men were treated as beasts. He supposed it was good, in a way. If Javert had treated a flea ridden feline with more care and kindness than the men beneath the lash, that knowledge would have hurt more. 

Javert shifted in his seat. “Do not be melancholy. I cannot stay long this evening, I have word of an exchange that is meant to take place tonight and I would like to catch them in the act.”

“What kind of exchange? Is it dangerous?”

“The nature of my work is often dangerous, given I am dealing with criminals who do not wish to be apprehended.”

“You will have a sergeant with you or gendarmes? You will not be going alone will you?”

Javert waved his hand at him as if he were an irritating fly. “I assure you it is a professional operation.”

“Now who isn’t speaking clearly? What does that mean? You are always professional.”

“It _means_ I won’t take any undue risks. Yes, I will have officers assisting me.”

“Good.”

“And yes, I will report to you tomorrow. This is absurd. It is as if you are my parole officer.” Javert waved his hand dismissively. “But come, there must be some passage of the Bible you have not read to me yet.”

“Let me fetch it.”

“I'm surprised it is not attached to you at all times.”

As Valjean left the room he wondered if Javert was correct. _Was_ Valjean's concern for him more than his concern for any other person who might put themselves in harms way? They were perhaps ‘friendly’ now, Cosette certainly believed them to be friends. He enjoyed Javert's company and looked forward to his arrival - perhaps that was only because Valjean was lonely and fearful of losing Cosette but no… He would miss Javert terribly too if he stopped visiting. The only thing that prevented them being friends was their shared history and for the first time Valjean pondered a life in which he wasn't a convict and they had met anyway. An absurd notion for him to have become a mayor from a humble tree pruner, but that was less absurd than a convict-mayor. 

They might still be in Montreuil-sur-Mur, doing good work together, colleagues and friends. Perhaps Javert would have felt such fulfilment in the role that he would not have desired to go to Paris. He shook his head. There was no use to such fantasies. 

His hand hesitated over the Bible and he turned back to leave the room without taking it. 

“I seem to have misplaced it. It seems I am becoming a doddery old man.” Valjean returned to his seat. 

“I cannot believe you would ever be such a thing. Do you require my investigative skills to locate it?”

“Oh no, I must have given it to Cosette. I'm sure that's it. But tell me, what is this case?”

Javert avoided telling him any details, and by the end of it Valjean had not gained much knowledge on the subject but he appreciated the conversation. Friendly conversation. As soon as Javert had left Valjean wondered how long his Bible would be ‘lost’ for. A chill suddenly came over him. 

He would lie to this man to keep his company? Perhaps Javert was right, that he was so used to lying he could not tell the truth. All because he was afraid that once Javert had learnt what he could from the Bible he would have no further need to visit. So Valjean would refuse to teach the word of the Lord for his own selfish fantasy?

He returned to his armchair and sank into it, putting his head in his hands. He murmured an apology to God, promising to continue helping Javert as He wished. He should be grateful for what he had, he did not deserve companions - a thief and a liar such as he. He was blessed already, being allowed to have Cosette until his duty as a father came to an end, to have Javert until he understood the world again, to have had Fauchelevent who considered him a brother. He gave his thanks for these treasured people and awaited Cosette’s return. He would be grateful for however much time she was willing to give him. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to avatoh for betaing <3
> 
> whatever you think of BBC Les Mis, Rivette is an absolute sweetheart and I'm including him in this mostly-Brick-verse fic

His rosary had seen more use in the past few months than it ever had since he had first procured it all those years ago. Back then, Javert had not intended to keep it. Weeks after Valjean had been returned to the bagne had found it in the pocket of his coat. He intended to throw it into the river but thought it served him better as a lesson: a constant reminder to keep his wits sharp and to trust his instincts. Now, it told him something very different. In his palm was evidence of all the goodness of Valjean, these simple beads honed in his factory that had provided jobs and prosperity long before he was mayor. It kept Javert in mind of God and Valjean at all times, more than it had ever reminded him of anything before. It now resided in the breast pocket of his coat and he had developed an unconscious habit of lightly touching two fingers against it before he left his home in the morning, just to ensure that it was still there. 

Once again he dined at Valjean's home and once again they were seated before the hearth, a bottle of wine between them, although this time there was a fire in the grate. The Autumn chill was noticeable in the evenings now and before long the nights would be much darker and colder. It was pleasant to know he had a seat here by Valjean's fire where he would be welcome, keeping the bleakness of winter at bay. 

Pleasant. Yes, it was pleasant to visit Valjean. Being invited to Valjean's home had become part of the routine in Javert's life, just as his preparation in the morning before work was as well as his duties during his working hours. He felt the same necessity for it, to retain that structure of seeing Valjean, dining with him, conversing with him. It was satisfying, just as fulfilling any of his mundane routines were but it _was_ pleasant too. Valjean was always unpredictable, his mind always something of a mystery to Javert who could not fathom Valjean's ways of thinking sometimes, but this meant it was never truly a set pattern of conversation and would never suffer from mudaneity. 

“My daughter believes you have a stammer,” Valjean said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

“What? I do not stammer.”

“She says you hesitate to pronounce my name, that it must be difficult for you to pronounce.”

“I hardly hesitate,” Javert grumbled. 

“I think it is becoming,” Valjean smiled and Javert's head snapped up. “Your inability to lie.”

“Honesty is a trait well regarded but not well liked.”

“Mm, true I suppose. But you have never cared for being liked.”

The mischief hadn't left him and it seemed to cast a peculiar spell over Javert. He huffed. 

“You respect it only because you rarely say truths.”

“I try. With you, I am as honest as I can be.”

Javert stalled for a moment and then frowned. “‘As I can be’ what is that supposed to mean?”

“Ah- I did not mean-” Valjean sighed. “I suppose I thought on what you said, that's all. That perhaps my mother tongue is the language of lies and I will not be able to shake it.”

“That is nonsense.”

Valjean looked surprised. “But it was you who said it.”

“I did not mean it to be _completely_ literal. I meant to say lying comes naturally to you as a defence, you lie about things you don't have to lie for. I did not mean that every word that falls from your lips is a lie, you fool.”

Valjean smiled somewhat sadly at him and then opened his mouth as if to speak but then thought better of it. 

“Well what is it? You wanted to be truthful, so out with it.”

“You are often exasperated with my foolishness…” Valjean spoke softly at his clasped hands. “But I would much rather be a fool than a convict in your eyes.” 

The atmosphere had changed and Javert was acutely aware that he had ruined something once again, although he was not entirely sure what that ‘something’ was. 

“That- I was not-” Javert growled at his fumbling. “It is not to say you are unintelligent.”

Valjean exhaled a self-deprecating laugh. “I have no schooling.”

“That does not make you an imbecile. That is not what I mean when I say you are foolish. How can you think such a thing when you ran a successful and innovative factory as well as single-handedly putting that small, unassuming town on the map?” Valjean did not say anything. Javert sighed and tried to make a clearer explanation. “You know I do not understand you at times, that I cannot fathom why you would think such things - your daughter wanting to be rid of you, for instance. It is frustrating you do not see the way I do and for that you are foolish.”

“Then everyone is a fool to you? For not possessing the great mind of Inspector Javert?” Valjean attempted (very poorly) to hide his smile. 

“Well, life would certainly be much easier if everyone thought as I did but…” Javert wetted his lips and he felt a peculiar constriction in his chest at the return of Valjean's playful mood. “But I fear life would be incredibly dull.”

Valjean let the smile spread freely across his face. “I don't know about that. You are a more than worthy companion to have. There is never a dull moment.”

Javert's face warmed, taking up his glass. The wine certainly helped conversation flow more freely between them but as they had grown more comfortable in one another's company, they did not rely on it so much. Now however, Javert was at a loss for what to say and the wine did not make him feel any better, it only spread the warmth from his face down his throat, over his chest, and pooled in his stomach. 

He wondered absently if he spent too much time in Valjean's company. It had been indulgent to spend the entire day with him when they had gone to the Luxembourg, but Javert allowed himself that reward. He had managed to add Gueulemer to the collection of Patron-Minette members on his radar the evening before and was in particularly high spirits. He was often working in the dead of night now, and despite his lack of sleep and the walk being rather exhausting, it was good to spend time in the sun. All his evenings were finally paying off, he had located most of the Patron-Minette, although Thenardier and Claqueous still had not been sighted, and now he awaited the moment to make his move. 

If rumour was to be believed, Claquesous had died at the barricade. If that was true it supported Javert's previous theory: Claquesous had a friend in the Force who had helped him escape last time. It also meant something much more severe: that the Force had a murderer on their payroll as a spy. No one would have told Javert such a thing to his face, knowing how he would have reacted. Hopefully there was truth to the rumour in that the brute was dead and the unpleasant fact of who was chosen as a spy was no longer relevant. 

“Javert?” 

“Hm?” Javert blinked to see Valjean leaning over him, resting a hand in Javert's arm. He lurched forward to sit up straight, realising with some horror that he had fallen asleep. 

“I did not mean to startle you, it is quite alright Javert.”

That soft smile did not seem to clear from Valjean's face and Javert wondered if he had been watching him sleep with that expression. Javert rose from his seat and straightened his cravat. 

“Even so, I should be going.”

“I will see you out,” Valjean said, that dammanable smile still on his face. But that, Javert thought, was no bad thing. 

\-----

_“Monsieur le Maire,” Javert inclined his head in a bow._

_“Inspector.”_

_Madeleine smiled but there were never any pleasantries aside from ‘good morning’. Never ‘good to see you’ or ‘you look well’. Which was right as it was unnecessary and too informal._

_“What bring you here? You have a report for me?”_

_“Yes, Monsieur, although it is uneventful.”_

_Madeleine’s smile gave way to a small laugh which caused Javert to startle and then frown._

_“Uneventful is what we desire, is it not? You do not come to me to provide me with entertaining stories and fanciful tales.”_

_“Of course not, Monsieur le Maire, forgive me.”_

_“Come, Javert, there is nothing to forgive. I should not jest.”_

_Javert felt his face heat. He shifted uncomfortably. Madeleine ought to jest, if he so pleased, and Javert should be better at conversing with him._

_‘_ There is nothing to forgive _’ rang with a strange prominence in his ear._

_“So, uneventful and a job well done I assume.”_

_“Yes, Monsieur.”_

_“Never anything less, hm?”_

_“What?” Javert shook his head. He should not get offended. “Excuse me.”_

_“Ah, it is meant as praise Inspector. You are admirably dedicated and always do excellent work.”_

_“That is kind of you to say.”_

_“It is only the truth.” Madeleine stopped for a moment in thought. “And as such I feel you should be rewarded.”_

_“Monsieur! It is only my duty. There is no need.”_

_Madeleine ignored him. “What is it that pleases you Javert?”_

_“To do my duty, Monsieur.”_

_“Well then, you would like another task as your reward?”_

_“If it pleases you, Monsieur.”_

_“‘If it pleases me’... Javert, I do not think you are catching my meaning.” There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. It made Javert flustered, unsure if he was being humiliated or not. “Perhaps if it is a task that pleased us both… would that be satisfactory?”_

_“Yes, Monsieur.”_

_“Come around here then,” Madeleine gestured with his hand for Javert to stand on the other side of the desk beside him._

_Madeleine was still seated. It was peculiar, looking down on a superior. As if reading his thoughts, Madeleine spoke:_

_“Would you go to your knees?”_

_Javert obliged, and looked back up at him. That was better somehow but the entire situation was odd. He couldn't predict it. Madeleine reached out and cupped Javert's cheek. Javert shuddered._

_“Would you help me? Provide this service for me?” His voice was different. Not careful and distant - softer, warmer and less formal._

_“Oh,” he said, foolishly, feeling his face burn hotter. Madeleine continued stroking his cheek and Javert gave into the temptation to drop his gaze between the mayor’s legs. He couldn't discern anything there but just the idea sent a thrill through him. “I will do it,” he said, surprising himself._

_“So very dedicated…”_

_Madeleine's hand left Javert's cheek to loosen his trousers. Javert could not avert his gaze, could not even blink, and all at once it was there - the most tender part of this powerful man exposed and entrusted to Javert. He shifted and jolted at the rub of fabric against his own hardness. How long had he been aroused? Just at this moment? When Madeleine had touched his cheek? When he went to his knees? As soon as he entered the office and Madeleine had gazed at him? In his own home when he knew he would meet Madeleine alone this evening?_

_Madeleine cupped his cheek again, his thumb stroking the whiskers there._

_“I will do it,” Javert insisted._

_“I know.”_

_Javert leaned forward, cautiously resting his hands on the mayor’s strong thighs. He bent his head and took Madeleine's cock into his mouth. He tasted the warm flesh and trembled._

_“Very good,” Madeleine murmured, steady and unchanged even as Javert felt as if he was falling apart at his feet._

_Javert started to move, pushing forward and pulling back. He did not remember his hair being untied but it was loose and Madeleine was running his hands through it. He groaned, this mixture of pride and shame at being petted like a dog for a good job somehow forming an intoxicating arousal._

_“Always so very good.”_

_Javert made a pitiful whine at the praise._

_“Yes, you are irreplaceable-”_

_The praises kept flowing but Javert couldn't discern them over his muffled moans._

Javert startled awake, panting, his nightshirt stuck to his skin. He took a moment of blank astonishment before jumping out of bed, pulling his nightshirt off, frantically scrubbing himself clean and throwing the stained shirt to the floor. 

He stared at the unassuming pile of white fabric, the rise and fall of his chest slowing into even breaths. He cast his eyes downward, to the offending part of his body which now hung limp and innocent between his legs. He grimaced. He could not stand to look at himself. 

He was appalled, he was horrified. He did not understand it, he had plenty to repent for already and this, _this_ , was not a decision he had made. Valjean told him of a bishop who had brought his soul, so then Valjean must have brought Javert's just the same. He often spoke of God, reminded Javert of His presence and the word of the Bible. Javert could not fathom it: why had this path to redemption led him to become more terrible, more sinful, more repugnant?

Javert turned to the cabinet where he had left a basin of water the previous night, as was his habit to quickly wash the sleep from his mind by splashing his face when he woke. He gritted his teeth as he washed himself with water so cold it took his breath away. The nights where getting colder and his room was drafty, he supposed it felt worse because his blood had run so hot. He grunted. Good. A punishment. Certainly not as much as he deserved but he supposed living in this hell of uncertainty was his principle punishment. His disgust with himself was necessary and he must experience it, however unpleasant. 

It was frustrating that it would impact on his perceived purpose of making himself of service to Valjean. How could he be near the man when the back of his mind thought of him in such depraved ways? Javert's mere presence would surely sully him. 

He pulled his hands from the water, curling and uncurling his fingers. His mind was disturbingly empty of any useful ideas. Dread rose within him as a thought formed. 

It had not been Madeleine. 

The restrained tones melted into Valjean’s true voice. The way he had whispered ‘Javert’ and not ‘Inspector’. His hair… Javert's face felt uncomfortably hot at the memory. 

The hair between the mayor’s legs had been snowy white. 

\-----

He _had_ been spending too much time with Valjean, that was all. It did not mean anything, he did not want to do… _that_. Javert’s body would not allow him to lie to himself, his pulse quickened at the memory of the dream. Well, now was not the time to think of it, he was working, and while there had not been anything of interest on his patrol, he should not let his mind wander - especially to such topics. 

Javert had often been working through the night to track members of the Patron-Minette, perhaps his odd sleep schedule had disrupted the nature of his dreams. He stubbed his foot on a protruding paving slab and muttered a curse. He could not afford distractions. Perhaps this was it, the moment he should strike. Being absent from Valjean and being consumed by this case would surely get his mind back in working order. Now was as good a time as any, it was a fine balancing act, trying to leave it as long as possible so they could snare the entire gang, but acting quickly enough before they moved their base of operations elsewhere. 

Back at the station house, he was convinced that it was now or never. 

“Rivette!” 

“Yes, Sir,” came the immediate response. 

Inspector André Rivette of the Second-class strode across the room and stood to attention beside Javert’s desk. His chestnut hair combed back and moustache neatly trimmed, his coat pressed and buttoned as always. He had been transferred from Vernon a month prior to the unrest that led to the student rebellion and had proven himself invaluable. 

Javert had his suspicions in the beginning, Rivette took more interest in Javert than Javert was comfortable with, he never faulted in his manners and always referred to him as ‘Sir’ when he should have just called him ‘Javert’ or ‘Inspector’ like everyone else did. Javert cynically assumed that Rivette was one to try and win any superior’s favour for a fast-track promotion, but this proved to be false. Rivette was merely a friendly, low-born soul, originally from the small town of Tourville-la-Rivière before becoming an Inspector, the likes of which one did not encounter in the city often. He would probably incline his head and say ‘Sir’ to any man with a fine coat or demanding presence that passed him. 

Rivette was loyal, had the proper respect for authority and would not be bribed. A valuable asset in this mission. Javert had been able to hand-pick a small team to assist him in bringing in the Patron-Minette - people that Javert was confident would not be swayed and would keep their mouths shut. He was not going to have a repeat of the last time the gang had slithered out of the grasp of the Law. 

“We must strike soon, tomorrow night perhaps, if all seems to be in order.”

“Right you are, Sir. Any signs of them about to dive to another bolt-hole?”

“No. But we cannot be complacent. If they have any intelligence at all they will move their base of operations regularly to avoid detection.”

“Then we best hope they are stupid.”

“If they were, it would be easy and they would not have caused me so many problems.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Never underestimate the criminal mind.”

“No, Sir.”

“Now, let us examine our plan for faults. Sit, please.”

Rivette exhaled in a manner that was not quite a laugh but rankled Javert in just the same way. 

“What?” He snapped.

“Nothin’, Sir. Only that you're awful generous saying that.”

“Rivette,” Javert said with a frown that meant ‘explain’. 

“Well it's _your_ plan, is it not?”

Javert snorted. “Don't be a ninny. What does it matter? We all have our part to play in it, now _focus_.”

“Yessir, sorry Sir.”

The meeting point the gang frequented was a suitably squalid tavern near the Seine, the kind of place that attracted disreputable customers but never had obvious illegal activity occurring on the premises. There was a side entrance in an alleyway that was arranged to look disused. Old crates ruined by the rain and barrels were heaped a few paces into the alley when entering from the street, creating a blockade that attempted to look coincidental. 

It had taken them an afternoon to figure out how to enter the alley from the other side, the first member of the Patron-Minette Javert had tracked there (Babet) had used the front entrance. After some time waiting in the shadows across the street Javert had determined there must be another exit and sure enough, keeping watch on the street that lead to the back entrance of the alleyway allowed him to catch sight of Montparnasse. 

There was a catch, keeping lookouts posted at both points added more gang members to their list of sightings but there were always less going in than coming out. There had to be a third exit. 

Javert had risked going inside, as much as he stood out in Paris, he had to begrudgingly admit his heritage was also useful going undercover in such places.His complexion would not be unusual for a dock worker, perhaps coming off a boat one day much like the cargo that came in. If Valjean thought his mother tongue might be the language of lies then Javert's was surely Argot, the native tongue of the place he was born. Javert had no problem blending in as a customer of such an establishment. His disguise consisted of clothes befitting a dock worker, a cap pulled low over his face with his hair pinned up underneath it, his fringe swept back and under it too. The cold nights were a good excuse to wrap a scarf loosely around the lower part of his face and if he stood hunched up on one side, as if he favoured his right shoulder for carrying barrels back and forth, that disguised his height. 

The alleyway entrance did not open into the main room but seemed to grant entry to another room which led upstairs, judging by the number of times Javert witnessed one of his quarry descending the stairs behind the bar. They would enter a back room, which when Javert was able to position himself close enough to it, he noticed it opened onto a set stone steps that descended into the dark. Those who went down them did not come back up. There was no way to figure out where the third exit was from inside without drawing suspicion. 

Javert had a hunch that given their proximity to the river, it was likely that this subterranean passage led to the bank of the Seine. After a few nights posting a number of people on watch along the riverside, this theory proved correct. There was a grate low in the wall that Rivette had seen them emerge from. It was likely an old passage dug out for smuggling purposes. It was locked from the inside. 

All exits known and all gang members accounted for, aside from Thenardier (much to Javert's frustration), the time for waiting was over. It was likely that Thenardier had escaped observation by being well disguised and Javert prayed that they would still find him in the back room when they made their move. Javert was certain there was a back room beyond that door, and not just the passageway out, given the times the gang were recorded entering, coming down from upstairs, going through that door and then appearing on the riverbank. Most of their time was spent between that back room and the river. 

Javert had two people stationed at each exit, he and Rivette would go inside, wait to see all of the gang members enter that room before they followed. One of the men that would be stationed at the front door would sit with them until they departed and then would send the message for backup before taking up his position. 

Javert was confident they had the element of surprise in their favour and that the majority of the gang would opt to bolt rather than fight. Gueulemer and Brujon might cause a problem, but that would be two against two and Javert and Rivette would have their weapons trained on them upon entry. 

Rivette nodded his assent that he could find no foreseeable fault in the plan. It would be aborted if they did not have enough of the Patron-Minette on site and they would try again the following night. 

Javert penned a brief missive to Valjean:

> _On the hunt. You will hear from me when I return._

\-----

Despite all his thoughts of work, Valjean still arrived in his dreams. Javert roughly palmed himself when he awoke - he did not have _time_ for this to be happening - and blamed Valjean for sending him a note in reply the previous evening. He had not read it, just stuffed it into his pocket, but it's presence must have still lingered in the back of his mind. 

It was a small mercy he could not remember the content of the dream this time, only that it had certainly involved Valjean and must have been depraved. He clutched his rosary and sent a prayer for forgiveness, to make it clear he did not _intend_ for this to happen, as well as praying for a successful capture of the Patron-Minette. Then, he made his way to the station house to make their preparations for the evening. 

The day crawled along awfully as Javert awaited his hour of action. His mind wandered to the note crumpled in his pocket and without much to do he could not resist the temptation of it. He took the slip of paper out of the depths of his coat and uncurled it. 

> _I will pray for your success and your safe return, although I am sure you do not require it._

Javert laid the note on his desk and ran his hand over it to flatten it. When had anyone ever prayed for him? He folded it neatly in half and slipped it into his breast pocket, his fingers brushing against the beads if his rosary. 

When the time finally came he was more than ready. The men assembled before his desk and he scrutinised their disguises before he gave a single nod and they dispersed. Javert and Rivette were left alone once more and they waited a few minutes to give the others a head start before departing. They left the station house together but Javert veered off down an alley without a word. It was less suspicious if they met at the tavern. 

Javert arrived before Rivette, as planned. He noticed Desmarais and Travers in position across the street and went inside, gruffly ordering a beer and taking his seat by the far wall. He lifted the tankard to his lips and restrained his grimace at the watered-down beverage. He smothered the thoughts of the far superior wine Valjean always offered him. 

Rivette and Desmarais entered together, caught up in conversation, detouring to the bar before joining Javert at his table. 

“Evenin’ Boss.” Rivette greeted. “How's life treatin’ you?”

Javert shrugged one shoulder. “Every day like the last.” _Everything is going as expected._

“That's no bad thing. Could be worse,” Desmarais said. 

Javert hummed into his drink. “Not havin’ no luck lately though.” _I haven't seen anyone yet._

“Give it time, Boss,” Rivette leaned back to stretch. “I'm sure it'll turn around.”

It wasn't long before their patience was rewarded. Babet slunk down the stairs behind the bar and slipped through the door they had their sights on. Gueulemer followed a few minutes later, and two lesser members (Mardisoir and Carmagnolet) rose from a table across the room to follow him. 

Javert drummed his fingers on the table. No one else had gone through that door in ten minutes. It was probable that they had entered through the entryway by the river but if they struck now and three of the principle members were absent, Javert knew it would be a long time before he caught sight of them again. 

Dupont entered the tavern and approached their table. He had been stationed at the alley entrance. Javert frowned. 

“I have news,” he said, sliding into his seat. “Troufiat sent word from the river. Two more in the trap.”

“Return to your post. You too, Desmarais. It's time.”

They nodded, leaving together. Javert waited five minutes for Dupont to get in position. When the bartender was busy serving, he signalled to Rivette and they silently moved towards the door at the back of the room. Javert opened it and slipped inside in one fluid movement, descending a few steps so Rivette had room to follow behind him. Rivette closed the door gently and the were plunged into darkness. Javert waited and listened. 

Muffled conversation, some distance away. Javert drew his pistol and continued down the rest of the steps, keeping one hand against the wall. His feet hit level floor and he kept himself against the wall as he edged further into the darkness, focused on the still indistinct mumbling of conversation and the hesitant steps of Rivette to ensure he was still close behind.

A drunken laugh ahead gave him a better sense of direction. The room should be on their left. Javert, already against the left wall, reached his hand in front of him to feel for a door as he progressed. He stopped suddenly when his fingers brushed over a gap, possibly where the door joined the wall, and Rivette stubbed his foot on Javert’s heel. Javert tapped him on the arm with his pistol to keep Rivette’s apology in his mouth.

Javert moved his hand up along the gap until he hit the cool metal of the door hinge. He tapped Rivette on the arm again and felt his way to the other side of the door. He groped for the handle and pressed against the door to listen.

“- an’ he never got on the wrong sida me again, I tell ya.” Gueulemer.

“I don’t think you have a _right_ side.” The disinterested drawl of Montparnasse. 

A gruff laugh. “Yer damn right.”

“How long are we going to have to wait on this?” Montparnasse sighed. “I tire of these games. I’m inclined to throw my hat in with Thenardier - there’s more fun and money to be had across the sea.”

“England?” 

“No you moron. The Americas. What could we possibly gain from a tiny island such as _England_? We need untapped resources and expansive potential.” Another sigh. “I _tire_ of waiting!”

Javert turned the handle and opened the door in one movement, pistol raised. “Then I’m terribly sorry to have kept you.” He immediately aimed at Brujon as soon as his eyes adjusted to the light and Rivette swept in behind him, raising his weapon at Gueulemer. “Montparnasse,” Javert nodded to him and grinned, noticing the blood running from the boy’s fingers as he clutched them. “Didn’t your mother tell you not to play with knives?”

He could imagine Montparnasse languishing across the crates he was seated on, picking at his fingernails with his blade. He didn’t count on a surprise. 

“An’ who’re you?” Gueulemer frowned.

“What does it matter?” Brujon snapped. “They’re armed and don’t look any good for us.”

“Excellent deduction, but I’m wounded that you don’t recognise me.”

“It’s _Javert_ you idiots!” Montparnasse hissed.

“ _Inspector_ Javert?” Gueulemer squinted at Rivette.

“The _other_ one, you dolt!” Babet said, drawing his own weapon.

“There’s only two of ‘em,” Gueulemer said, staring Rivette down. “Inspector Javert or not, neither don't look so much now.”

Javert noticed the flick of Montparnasse’s coattails go through the door further along the wall to the one Javert had just entered. Even so, they were still outnumbered 5-2. The only people in this room full of crates were the ones they had witnessed coming in. No Thenardier. Javert gritted his teeth, Brujon shifted his weight and Babet moved in Javert’s peripheral vision. 

Javet dropped his aim and fired, hitting Brujon in the knee before he made his move. He dropped to the floor with a strangled cry and Javert leapt over him to tackle Babet who fired at him and missed. Javert grabbed Babet’s pistol but could not wrench it from his grasp. He got a knee in the ribs for his trouble and Javert brought the butt of his own pistol up to crack it against Babet’s temple. For someone so scrawny it was surprising how well he could hold his ground, Babet did not seem to mind any further damage to his skull as he headbutted Javert.

Suddenly Javert was wrenched to the floor, Babet and both pistols slipping from his grasp. He rolled onto his side to see Brujon holding onto his ankle. Javert kicked him square in the face and heard his nose crunch beneath his heel. Another gunshot and Javert turned to see Rivette, lip bloodied and cornered, and Gueulemer go down. Carmagnolet made a grab for Rivette’s pistol but Javert’s attention was brought back to Brujon’s enraged yell. He grabbed at Javert’s waist, pulling himself closer, pinning Javert beneath him and put all his weight into the punch he landed on Javert’s face. 

The back of Javert’s head smacked against the ground and he saw stars. He struggled and kicked and Brujon’s fist connected with the side of his face, snapping his head to the side. Javert punched downward, blindly, and struck Brujon’s wounded knee. He cried out and faltered, enabling Javert to wriggle out from under him.

The welcome sound of precise, marching steps came to him from down the stone corridor and gendarmes poured in through the open door. Javert hauled himself to his feet and fished his cuffs from his pocket, bending to grab Brujon’s wrist. The man pulled back and snarled at him but realised he was surrounded and settled for glaring at Javert instead. Javert fastened the cuffs to him and surveyed the area.

Two gendarmes were pinning Gueulemer as Rivette cuffed him, Carmagnolet glowered in a corner as another gendarme placed him in irons. Babet and Mardisoir were nowhere to be seen. Javert turned to the remaining gendarme.

“Back out into the passage. We have three more on the run. Go back to the entrance, I’ll follow it down to the river.”

Javert limped along the passage, there was commotion ahead and behind him. He could only hope that was a good thing. He still had a second pistol tucked into his coat. He drew it and nearly fell down another set of stairs that opened out under him in the darkness. He stumbled, aiming his body at the wall to stop him from falling completely, the clatter of his gun against stone much too loud. When the forward momentum had stopped, Javert waited, panting in the darkness, listening for sounds of someone approaching. There was a cry ahead of him and he continued on as fast as he could. 

There was a light from a lantern and large shadows danced across the walls of the passage. Two people were grappling and as Javert got closer he saw a third body on the floor. 

“Stop!” Javert raised his weapon. “I will shoot.”

“Will you Inspector?” Montparnasse lunged forward to grab at Troufiat again and Javert saw his knife gleam in the lamp-light.

Javert leapt toward him, bringing the butt of his pistol down against the back of Montparnasse’s head. Javert grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him back pushing the barrel of his gun hard under his jaw.

“Drop the knife.” Montparnasse stubbornly refused to move. “Drop it.” Javert pressed harder until Montparnasse choked. The knife clattered to the ground. 

Javert pushed Montparnasse to the floor, keeping a hold of him. 

“Troufiat. Cuffs.” 

Troufiat had the honours of cuffing the renegade and Javert hauled him back to his feet.

“Did anyone else pass through here?”

“Yes, Inspector. Babet. We got him cuffed but this one…” he glared at Montparnasse and flicked his eyes to the corpse on the floor. 

“Where is he now then?” Javert didn’t wait for a response before he shoved his prisoner into Troufiat’s arms. “Whatever you do don’t let go of him!”

Javert ran the grate high in the wall. It was already open and Javert climbed the crates stacked beneath it to get through. The night air dried the sweat on his face as he looked around for a sign of Babet. He crouched down at the river’s edge. The stone was wet. Babet must have stumbled into the water in his haste. Javert squinted at the ground and more wet stone came to his attention on his right. Javert stood and walked slowly, keeping as quiet as possible. He could no longer see if the stone was wet in the darkness or not but he was certain Babet was waiting in an alcove along this bank.

Javert held his pistol out in front of him, against the wall, and turned it into every crevice before he passed it. The thrill of the chase reached its peak, singing through his veins, coiling his body like a spring, waiting for an outlet. A swathe of shadow before him told him this was it. He dived into it, pulling out a flailing Babet. The criminal barrelled into him, setting him off balance and Javert pinwheeled his arms as his body tipped backwards towards the river. 

_The water rushed loud in his ears. The sky was black above, pushing him into the darkness below. This was the end. It had to end._

Javert fell forwards onto his hands and knees, panting. Babet laughed.

“What’s the matter, Inspector? Can’t swim?” He kicked Javet in the ribs.

There was no Valjean to rescue him now. He did not need to be rescued. _Valjean!_ Javert had to bring the Patron-Minette to justice for his sake. He had to have them all.

Javert rolled at aimed his pistol at Babet. “Kick me again and see what happens,” Javert growled.

Javert got to his feet and pressed the barrel of the gun against Babet’s back and led him back the way they had come. Troufiat and Montparnasse were waiting for him, Jacques' body had been taken away, leaving only a dark stain on the stone.

“Bad luck, Babet,” Montparnasse shrugged.

The basement room was empty when they passed it. “The rest have been taken up to the transport that arrived,” Troufiat informed Javert. “Mardisoir was caught out front.”

“Good.”

The tavern had been vacated and a fiacre awaited them outside. They bundled their captives in and followed after. Javert rapped on the ceiling and the driver set them on the way to the station house. 

The first thing Javert did when he arrived was write a brief message:

> _A successful capture._

\-----

Javert headed directly to Rue de l’Homme-Armé the next afternoon. He did not hesitate or worry over his dreams, he had been too exhausted to dream the previous night and all he wanted to do was give Valjean the news that the gang had been brought to justice. He was still bitter that he could not relay the news he had intended to: that the whole gang, Thenardier included, were behind bars. 

“Javert!” Valjean greeted, eyes wide as he reached out a hand but did not touch the bruising on Javert's face. 

“They don't like to come quietly,” Javert smirked as he stepped inside. 

“But what happened?”

Javert could not contain himself, he always did have a flair for the dramatic. He lasted until he stood before the fire and turned with one great sweep of his greatcoat, holding his cane up before him.

“The Patron-Minette are in custody! There will be no escapes this time.”

Valjean did not shrink back from the toothy smile that stretched Javert’s face but responded with one of his own. “Oh Javert! That is wonderful news! Congratulations! Or um, well done?” Valjean chuckled. “I will fetch the wine. To celebrate.” 

The smile still hadn’t left Valjean’s face, the pleasing upward curve of his lips, the deepening of the lines at the edges of his eyes and the slight dimpling of his cheeks. Javert felt his chest expand with pride and his heart thud in his throat. But wait… It was much too early for celebration.

“Valjean- uh, I mean Fauchelevent.” Javert deflated somewhat, dipping his head and resting both hands on the head of his cane. “It would not do to celebrate now.”

“Oh?”

“I had intended to come to you with better news… Thenardier is still at large. I had hoped he might be in disguise but…”

“Javert,” Valjean said softly, coming towards him and putting his hands on Javert’s shoulders. Javert met his gaze to find Valjean still smiling. “Only you could be disappointed with such good work.”

Javert’s face warmed. Valjean was so close. Javert desired to put his hands on Valjean’s waist, for what purpose he did not know. Just to touch him perhaps… Valjean rose on his tiptoes and Javert thought his heart had stopped. His face was level with Javert’s own. He could just-

“Javert!” Valjean cried, looking over Javert’s shoulder. “Your coat is on fire!”

Javert blinked at him and Valjean rushed around to beat the flames from his coattails.

Valjean pushed him to a chair once the flames were extinguished and he was satisfied Javert hadn’t been harmed. “Please, sit. You look as if you’ve had quite a time. You do not need any more excitement.” Valjean frowned at Javert’s face and chewed his lip. “Are you in pain? How badly were you hurt?”

“Ah, it is only bruises.” He couldn’t help but smile at Valjean again. “And I can barely feel it, although I expect tomorrow will be a different story. I have arrested them, Valjean!”

“Yes,” Valjean murmured, resting a hand on Javert’s shoulder. “Truly excellent work I should think.”

Pride and affection swelled in Javert’s chest. “Mark my words Valjean, I’ll get information from one of them about Thenardier's whereabouts and-”

“Hush. It is a great success. I will fetch the wine and you will not argue.”

Javert had no intention of arguing.

\-----

Javert’s dreams did not cease. It had never been a conscious thought or willing fantasy, not in the beginning at least. It had begun to haunt his dreams wherein his true nature came to the fore. The feeling of Valjean's warm, firm hands that were always kind. It was innocent enough although he knew in his heart it was not, especially with how he awoke in the mornings. 

They were not so innocent anymore. Every night he was plagued by his desire and his base mind supplied all of the ways he could be of service. He reeled at the notion his mind could produce such scenarios. 

It was his true nature, that of the gutter rat and whore-son, just as it was Valjean's true nature to be kind and good. Misfortune had befallen him and he had slipped into something else, a life he was not meant to have, full of hurt and suffering. Javert had clambered out of the sewer, an abomination, into a better life he had not deserved. 

Yes, a person’s true nature was what mattered. He had incorrectly seen Valjean's to be that of the convict and buried his own. He had known of this quirk, when his body was developing into manhood and his dreams had haunted him then. He had blamed the environment, of never being around women, and later, when he was, they were whores and beggars. It had subsided when the fresh, raging heat of his youth had passed. It had never been any particular man in his thoughts. 

Then he had felt it, many years later in Montreuil. He did not admit it to himself at the time and he ignored the familiar shape of the word ‘monsieur’ on his tongue when he woke. If sometimes the shape of ‘le Maire’ followed he refused to acknowledge it in his conscious mind. It had always been a nameless man, a better man than himself, and he buried it once more. 

He never sought pleasure from it. He was quick and rough, not indulging it for any longer than he had to. It was merely a bodily function. A necessity. It did not mean anything. 

Now it had resurfaced in a way he could not ignore, forcing him to excavate the rest of it and face the ugly truth of himself. His true nature. The gutter clung to him in a way that could not be washed away like the sewer filth from the barricade. He stared at the water, his hands had gone numb from being kept in the basin. This was pointless. He could not clean his soul, cursed to corruption from birth. 

He had attempted to follow Valjean's example. Valjean bathed regularly to cleanse his body and soul, a baptism of his own devising. It did not work for Javert. It did not dissuade his dreams or make him feel cleansed. In fact once he had imagined Valjean bathing as he set to washing himself and dunked his head in the water to wash away the image. That hadn't worked either. 

It was becoming increasingly difficult to see Valjean, Javert was hesitant and ashamed in accepting his offers. Saturday dinners were the easiest, the company of Cosette and Toussaint stopped his mind from wandering and his gaze from lingering on Valjean's face. Such an unremarkable face he had thought before but that was not so. He was seeing new things in it all the time. Valjean's gentle, sorrowful eyes that always spoke the truth of his feelings, that crinkled at the edges in rare delight, a face lined with age and hardship that softened with those shy, hesitant smiles of his, the soft curve of his lips… Javert never stayed for conversation after dinner now, he arrived, he ate, he gave his thanks and left. 

He would not corrupt Valjean with his presence but at the same time he could not deny Valjean his company if he wished it. It was a test. It must be. He would suffer through his dreams and he would eventually come to his senses. He had to. 

\-----

Two weeks after Valjean had put the flames out on his coat but fanned the flames in Javert’s soul, Javert risked going to Rue de l’Homme-Armé once again and sat by the fire with Valjean as they waited for their meal to be served. Javert had visited and corresponded with Valjean often in that those two weeks but never for any length of time. Javert was beginning to worry that he was losing control of the situation, and that he indulged himself by seeking Valjean's company so often, but this time Valjean had invited him. Javert could not refuse and could not feel anything other than pleasant anticipation. 

“What is it that ails you Javert?” Valjean asked, his almost joyful demeanor at the return of Javert's Saturday evening routine falling into a cautious, melancholy worry.

Javert nearly choked on his tea. “What do you mean?” 

“You do not seem yourself. You are preoccupied with something and you do not seem to have much time to spend here anymore. That is not a problem of course but are you in the midst of a difficult case?”

“Ah, well, Thenardier is still on the loose and I cannot rest easily with that knowledge.” It wasn't a lie exactly, just not the complete truth. 

“I know you will catch him Javert. I have every faith in you.” Javert gripped his teacup tighter and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “But it is as you told me before, he has been spooked and gone to ground. There's nothing to be done except have patience.”

“You are right.”

Javert made the mistake of looking up and catching Valjean's small smile. He looked away. 

“Are you sure you are well?” Valjean pressed. 

“Quite. I am just tired, that's all.” _Because I am afraid of what awaits in my dreams._

Valjean reached over and rested a hand on his arm, freezing Javert in place. “You can come to me with anything Javert. I will try to help.”

Javert wasn't listening. He stared at Valjean's hand, felt the weight of it. 

“Javert?”

Javert gave a single, abrupt nod. He imagined how those roughened hands would feel against his skin-

Javert jumped up and straightened his coat. “Yes, I just need to rest. I really ought to be going.”

“But you haven't been here long at all! Stay for dinner at least? Perhaps that will make you feel better. It won't be long before it is ready-”

“No. I really must leave.” Javert left the room and his half-cup of tea to retrieve his hat. “Good evening Valjean.”

“Javert-”

But Javert had already gone out into the night. 

Javert walked aimlessly, not wanting to return home to his bed. He grimaced. It was disrespectful to Valjean, to his hospitality and friendship for Javert's mind to stray, _especially_ when he was in the man's company. 

From what Valjean had said Javert had not been particularly good company himself. He wondered if Valjean thought that he only came to his house to eat his food. Surely Valjean would not think him so ill mannered? His stomach growled at the reminder of the meal he had just denied and he pulled his coat tighter around himself. 

Well, that was a punishment too. He did not deserve such fine food and hospitality from people he had wronged. 

_You are ungrateful. You will not think of him in such a way again._

\-----

Valjean's words came back to haunt Javert's dreams: how it pleased him to see Javert well-fed. Javert had never eaten as well as he had with Madeleine and now with Valjean, he had tasted dishes he had never had the privilege to experience before. He was always careful to keep himself in check, not to indulge in Madeleine's invitation too often, to not be susceptible to bribery, but it had been difficult to return to his meagre eating habits after the Mayor's denouncement. 

His dreams invariably began with Madeleine encouraging him to dine in a way he could not refuse. He felt like a well-kept horse, fed and groomed to keep him in peak condition, his health cared for in a way it had never been in all his years. It resulted in that peculiar concoction of shame and pride that fuelled his arousal.

_“Please, Javert, eat.”_

_“I am, Monsieur.”_

_To his horror Valjean raised a pastry to his mouth and nudged his lower lip with it._

_“Come now,” Valjean coaxed and Javert opened his mouth to allow Valjean to feed him. His face burned, his cock ached and he desired to have something else in his mouth. He made do with the pastry and had the urge to lick the sweetness from Valjean's calloused fingertips once he was done. He resisted it. “How about dessert?”_

_Javert frowned. “That_ was _dessert.”_

_Valjean gave him a cryptic smile Javert could not translate but even so it made him wish he had taken Valjean's fingers into his mouth._

_“I find that I still hunger,” Valjean stood and walked around the table to take Javert's arm and get him to his feet. Valjean lips pressed against Javert's and-_

Javert opened his eyes to a morning still dark, his breath heavy. He groaned in annoyance and the slightest movement of his leg turned the groan into something else. After the first time he had not been so lucky as to spend in his sleep again, he was forced to acknowledge it and encourage it to find release. It was torturous. He had tried to just ignore it and will it away but he could not risk the distraction or the embarrassment; it was a far quicker solution to get it out of the way. 

It was an impossible task to _not_ think of Valjean as he consciously touched himself. That powerful body hidden beneath layers of well-worn clothes, those wide, rough hands that touched so carefully. And yes, Valjean - the vision of the mild, distant mayor always dissolved into Valjean's kind, sorrowful eyes and snowy hair, because Valjean had always been Madeleine. Javert's dreams began with Madeleine, likely because his mind sought logic and reason and possibly that he was in denial. In the dream he told himself that he was only following orders, that it was not desire, but then he had to suffer lying awake in his bed with his body telling him something very different. 

He tugged himself with quick, rough strokes, muffling his ragged breaths in the pillow and trying to think of nothing at all. It was always futile. Valjean still hungered. Valjean could do anything he pleased. He could bend Javert over the table - oh yes, Javert would bend - and Valjean could take him right there. Claim him, possess him-

Javert rolled onto his front, spreading his legs, thrusting into his hand, imagining the solid wood of the table against his chest and Valjean's solid weight pressing into and against him, rocking the table with the force of his thrusts. Javert bit down on the pillow as he spent, staining his nightshirt with his shame once more. 

He crumpled, flopping down onto the mattress, the dampness against his stomach making him shudder. He squeezed his eyes shut. He was depraved, he was obscene, he was dammed. This had gone on for far too long, he had be fooling himself into believing his company was somehow necessary to Valjean, allowing Javert to indulge himself in this awful fantasy. 

Javert could no longer keep company with Valjean, that much was clear. He could never sit at that table with him again, or share his food. Javert cringed. Most definitely not in front of the man’s _daughter_ , who he should never have shared the company of in the first place. 

Valjean had assisted him more than enough. Javert would just have to figure out, once again, what his purpose was. This time, on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Javert has a limited imagination when it comes to sexy details in his dreams... there will be much more detail later, I assure you


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to avatoh for betaing!

Javert had not made contact with Valjean, or heard from him, in over two months. Javert ran out of reasons why he had not visited - his last letters at the end of November had skirted too close to lying for him to be comfortable maintaining such correspondence. Javert ceased to respond and Valjean eventually stopped writing. Javert had allowed their relationship, whatever it was, to dwindle into nothing. 

Autumn ended, Christmas passed and a New Year began. Javert had no care for these dates and no reason to celebrate - he never had done. There was still no sign of Thenardier, which only soured Javert's mood further. He had hoped the blackguard would have attended the execution of his fellows in a sick fascination but Javert and his men had hidden in the crowd and did not catch sight of him. 

It was a cold February to reflect his mood and he heard news of the Pontmercy wedding in the form of gossip overheard on his patrols. The lower classes always liked to marvel about the rich, although they often found their misfortune most gripping, sometimes a positive story conjured fantasies they could escape into for a moment. Folly, Javert thought, a beggar woman imagining a Baron might whisk her away and present her a fine white dress. It would only pain them more to open their eyes and see the reality of the hard, wet cobblestones where they resided. 

Little did they know it but that was almost precisely what had happened. Not that Cosette was a beggar (Valjean might not ever let him set foot in his home again if Javert said such a thing) but she was an orphan, born with the lowest in society. Perhaps she did not even know she was an orphan, Javert mused; Valjean would want to protect her from all the bad things in the world. She called him ‘Papa’ readily enough, with all the affection it was meant to have. 

He considered writing a letter of congratulation to Valjean, but that seemed foolish. What would he be congratulating Valjean for? If he were to send congratulations it would be to the happy couple and he could not bring himself to do that. Time rolled on and the opportunity for such a message passed. 

He still saw Valjean in his dreams. They occurred less often now but he still could not manage to get through a week without one. Valjean would whisper how much he had missed him and Javert would apologise with all the care and dedication he could. 

Sometimes he thought he saw Valjean when he was out on patrol, but whenever he looked back it always turned out to be someone else. Part of him wished that their paths would cross, that fate would bring them together once more and Javert did not have to choose not to see him. He patrolled Valjean's regular haunts in the hope of catching a glimpse of him but to no avail. He was likely in his daughter’s home, doting over her as always, gaining joy from her happiness. As it should be. Javert had no place in such a life. 

\-----

The Spring sunshine chased away the winter frost and blossoms bloomed in the Luxembourg. Javert tried to prevent his gaze from lingering on the flowers and the bench on which he had sat with Valjean in the last of the Summer heat. It was as if the last days of April were making an extra effort to inject good cheer into the city but to Javert it only felt as if it were mocking his heavy heart. 

“Sir…” Rivette said cautiously as he lingered at the edge of Javert's desk. 

“What is it?” Javert snapped. 

“Well, I know it's not my business but I was wondering… that gentleman friend of yours… When did you last see him?”

“He is not-” Not a gentleman? Not his friend? “He is not your concern.”

“I used to see him talking to you sometimes that's all.” Rivette continued regardless. “He's that charitable old fellow isn't he? A good man. And… well, I think he's the one who took you in after the barricade- so anyway,” Rivette hurried on before Javert argued, “I saw him yesterday and… He didn't seem quite right, Sir.”

“How do you mean?” Javert leaned towards him, all of the denials on his tongue forgotten. 

“He seemed… lost, Sir. Just lingering around Rue Saint Louis. I asked him if he needed any help and he looked so afraid, he said he was sorry, even though I told him he wasn't in any trouble, and he just… ran away.” Rivette frowned at Javert's desk. “I'm just worried for him is all, he seems a good friend to you. It's not my place to make assumptions but he is old and I wondered if he was… quite in his right mind. He seemed awfully vulnerable.”

“That is concerning… Thank you for bringing it to my attention. The amount of money he carries around…” Javert said to justify his concern as a man of the law being concerned for a good citizen and nothing more. “He’ll be an easy target.”

“When was the last time you saw him, Sir? If you don't mind my asking.”

Javert sighed. “It's been months. Four or five months! I will check on him, Rivette. I fear I have been neglectful.”

“I hope he is alright, Sir.”

“Thank you Rivette.”

Javert collected himself and left for Rue des Filles du Calvaire. He hailed a fiacre in his urgency and sat consumed with ideas, each worse than the last, about what could have happened to Valjean. He jumped out of the fiacre as soon as it pulled up, thrust the necessary coins into the driver’s palm, and rapped on the door of Number 6. 

He was about to pound his fist on the door again when it opened to reveal a startled looking maid. 

“Where is Va-Fauchelevent?” He demanded. 

The maid frowned at his rude manner of speaking. “That's _Madame_ or _Baroness Pontmercy_ to you Sir. What is your business here?”

“I am _Inspector_ Javert and I have pressing matters in regards to _Monsieur_ Fauchelevent. He is not here?”

“No, Inspector. Haven't seen him in a long while.”

“Then I must speak with the _Baroness_.”

“I will fetch her,” the maid inclined her head, motioning for him to step into the hall and closed the door behind him. “Wait here.”

Javert stepped inside and tapped his foot with impatience until Cosette arrived, looking just as anxious and harried as he felt. 

“Inspector! Come in, come in!” She ushered him into a lounge, gesturing for him to sit but Javert shook his head. 

“Madame-”

Cosette shook her head, aghast. “Oh no, Inspector, please, we are friends. Call me Cosette. I will not have you say all of these silly things like my Papa does. Can you believe he insisted that I call him Monsieur Jean? Monsieur Jean! What is that? It is not even his name! Oh tell me Inspector, how is he? I did not like how he was behaving in his last visits.”

Javert's heart plummeted. _Monsieur Jean_ : the name he should have always possessed and yet Valjean wished it to be spoken by the one person who should have used that most beloved name - _Papa_ \- instead. 

“And when did you last see him?”

“Oh… It has been weeks! He told Marius that he was going away on a journey.”

“When will he be going?”

“Why, he has already gone! Quite some time ago. Did he not tell you? When did _you_ last see him?”

“My associate saw him on Rue Saint Louis only yesterday.”

“But that is so close! Why is he not here? What is going on Inspector? Where is my father? Please, you must tell me what is happening.”

To see her so distraught reminded Javert of Fantine and of how he had remained cold back then, denying her desire to be reunited with her family. It unnerved him and he risked lightly resting his hand on Cosette’s shoulder. He was different now, there was no doubt. His heart ached for Valjean and for this loving child who had accepted that quiet, kind man so willingly in a way that no one else had. Javert had the power to make things right, to give this woman her father and save Valjean from his martyrdom. 

“I will. But your husband must join us so we can see everything clearly.”

“I will fetch him right away,” she said as she hurried from the room. 

Javert was more certain than he had been about anything since the barricade. He knew what he must do when he found Valjean and he was sure he knew where to locate him. 

Cosette rushed back into the room. “Inspector! What on Earth is going on? Marius tells me I must be mistaken and you cannot be here because you are dead! What is the meaning of this?”

“ _You_ ,” Javert growled as Marius appeared behind her. When he had assisted Valjean in returning the boy home after the barricade, he had not recognised him beneath the muck. “You owe me two pistols.”

Marius did not respond, only stared at him, pale and wide-eyed. Javert tutted in frustration. 

“Explanations are in order. Sit.”

They obeyed, sitting side by side on the couch. 

“But Inspector-” Marius began. 

“Enough. You will speak when spoken to. We do not need any more confusion. Now, you will tell me what V- your father has been doing from December until now.”

“We were living how you knew us to - at Rue de l’Homme-Armé.” Cosette said. “He helped organise the wedding, which happened in February.”

“And presented us with Cosette's dowry. A large sum,” Marius added, staring intently at Javert as if he were trying to tell him something else. 

“Did he attend the ceremony?”

“Of course! He took me down the aisle but he had injured his arm so could not sign the papers.”

“Did he indeed?” Javert muttered. 

“I insisted he visit every day when I came to live here. I wanted him to live with us but he would not have it and…”

“And?”

Cosette frowned at her lap. “He behaved very strangely. He would only receive me in the dusty little basement room. I made sure it was cleaned for him, and as nice as it could be with a fire in the grate and comfortable chairs… But then he started to refuse those things and…” Her eyes sparkled with tears and she paused to collect herself. “And the last time it was just a cold, bare room!”

“And ‘Monsieur Jean’.”

“Oh do not remind me! It is awful!”

“And then he stopped coming altogether. Monsieur Pontmercy,” Javert refused to call him by his ridiculous title, “what did he tell you? That he was going away?”

Marius shifted uncomfortably. “You must understand Inspector, I thought you were dead-”

“And what does that have to do with anything? Speak plainly man!”

“But,” Marius cast a sidelong glance at his wife, “he told me to keep his secret and that Cosette mustn't know.”

“He would keep secrets from me even now,” Cosette whispered to herself. She wiped her eyes. “I won't have it Marius. There are no secrets between us. We need to help him and you _will_ tell me.”

“Very well.” Marius sighed and turned to Javert. “At the barricade Monsieur Fauchelevent took you, the captured spy, away to execute you.”

“Execute!” Cosette cried. “Marius! As if my father could ever do such a thing!”

“Evidently he did not.” Javert interrupted before an argument ensued. 

“But how was I to know! Cosette has never mentioned your name, I had not seen you since, and when he told me his story it explained why he would wish an inspector dead. When I questioned him about it he did not deny it! Why would he allow me to believe him to be a murderer?!”

“And believing him to be you stopped him visiting your home.”

“Marius! Tell me you didn't!”

Marius hung his head. “We agreed it was for the best,” he held up his hand before Cosette could interrupt. “You do not know the things he told me, my darling.”

“Then tell me! I told you that he saved your life! What could possibly outweigh the gratitude you should feel for him for that act?”

“I think,” Javert interrupted once more, “that it is your father's story to tell. We shall go to him and hear what he has to say.”

“Oh yes! You know where he is? Can we go at once?” Cosette was already out of her seat but Marius remained frozen, looking terribly anxious.

“Do not worry yourself,” Javert told him. “I already know his story.”

“You do?” Marius frowned in disbelief, likely thinking Javert could not know the _whole_ tale otherwise Valjean would be in the bagne. 

“I do. Now come. We will clear this matter up.”

They left immediately and Javert hailed a fiacre. The Pontmercy’s no doubt had their own means of transportation but he did not want to wait for the driver to be summoned and the horses haltered. Javert barked the address and held the door open to hurry Cosette and Marius inside. 

Cosette recognised the street they headed towards. “But this is… Inspector, are you telling me my father has been at home this whole time?”

“We will find out.” 

Javert stepped out of the fiacre and did not wait for Marius to give Cosette his hand to help her down, he was already knocking on the door. 

Before the portress could speak a word he put himself in the doorframe. It was not the familiar face of Toussaint but a stranger. “Is Monsieur Fauchelevent in? It is a matter of vital importance. I'm an Inspector of the police and I have information for him.”

She hesitated, which told him that Valjean had told her to lie, before she nodded and stepped aside. “I fear he is not well at all, Inspector. I think he really out to have company…”

Javert took the stairs two at a time and threw the door open to the bedroom.

“Valjean!”

That was perhaps not the way he should have entered the room, his voice was too loud and sharp. Valjean would likely think Javert was charging in to arrest him. 

“Javert… ?” Valjean was abed even though it was late in the afternoon, and he raised himself up on his elbows to look at him. 

Javert went to his bedside and crouched beside it, in reassurance that he was only there in goodwill. Valjean blinked at him, unseeing, his eyes sunken and shadowed by fatigue. His face had an unhealthy grey pallor to it and his hair hung limp and lifeless. Javert grasped his hand. 

“Javert?” Valjean's eyes shimmered with tears and Javert squeezed his hand in an attempt to calm him. “My friend… You are really here? Oh but forgive me, I mean to say ‘Inspector’ of course-”

“Valjean.” Javert held Valjean's clammy palm between his hands. “I would be honoured if you would consider me your friend and if you would still call me such a thing after I have left you like this… I do not think I deserve it-”

“Papa! Papa! What has happened to you?!” Cosette threw herself across the bed to embrace her father who looked utterly bewildered. 

“Cosette? Oh, but I must be dreaming! My beautiful daughter and my good friend here with me… Perhaps you are heaven-sent indeed. Ah, what a wonderful vision to be graced with in these final moments.”

“Papa! What do you mean?! You are not dying? What ails you? We will fetch a doctor at once! Marius! Call for a doctor!”

“Valjean. You are not dying,” Javert said, his voice lowered. “You cannot buy my life and have yours wither away. What am I to do with that?”

“You do not need any advice from me any longer, Javert. You are doing good work. I am glad to have known you this way.”

“I will always seek guidance from you for that which I do not understand. And more than that, do you not think…” Javert looked at their clasped hands, “that I enjoy your companionship? You do not think you would be missed?”

Valjean choked back a sob as the tears rolled down his face. 

“Papa! I love you so, oh how you have worried me - how I've missed you!” Cosette hugged him tighter, burying her face against his neck. “Once the doctor has seen to you we will all go home together and you will stay with us. I will not leave you here alone!”

Valjean looked at Javert. “You… will stay at the hut?”

Javert's heart leapt. Valjean considered Cosette’s ‘us’ to include him! He could not think of a correction, he would gladly accompany Valjean home. 

“Oh no, Papa. We are not going to Rue Plumet! You will come and live with Marius and I, and you shall want for nothing! The Inspector is welcome to stay with us, if he so wishes, we have plenty of room to spare.”

“Ah yes… Marius…” Valjean deflated and eased himself to lie back. 

“But let us not make any decisions just yet,” Javert said to raise Valjean's spirits. “After we have had our discussion we will decide what is best, but you will not be alone.”

Valjean squeezed his hand. 

It wasn’t long before Marius arrived with a doctor, who asked them to leave the room to save Valjean from such scrutiny. Cosette and Marius waited in the next room but Javert refused to leave Valjean’s bedside. He thought Valjean's gaze was grateful when he declared he would stay. 

The doctor checked Valjean's pulse, his breathing, looked into his eyes, asked him questions about how he felt and watched him walk the length of the room with shaky steps. 

“Monsieur,” the doctor beckoned Javert. “A word.”

“Whatever your diagnosis is, you can tell us both. This man believes he is dying. Is he?”

The doctor glanced at Valjean and fiddled with his cuffs. “Well, I cannot see that there is anything physically wrong with him except that he is undernourished. But I feel he may indeed be correct, no one knows the state of their own health like the person affected. Forgive my lack of a medical explanation, but I fear it is more a sickness of the soul than of the body.”

Javert frowned. “And that can kill a man?”

“Perhaps, if he no longer possesses a will to live.”

“And what do you propose a cure would be?”

“To give him that reason?” The doctor shrugged sadly. “I am sorry I cannot be of more help to you. It is a good sign that his spirits seem to be improving and I do not think he is too far gone yet. You must make sure he eats well, keeps up his fluids, remains active once he recovers his energy, and receives visitors.”

Javert nodded. “Thank you for your counsel,” he led the doctor out. “Please repeat your explanation to his daughter and her husband and settle your fee with them.”

“There is no fee, Monsieur. After all, I have not been able to do anything.”

Javert returned to Valjean, who had already slipped back into a light doze from the minor exertion. 

_But perhaps you have given us hope._

Once the doctor had departed, Cosette and Marius returned to the room with tea. Javert left Cosette to rouse Valjean, for surely hers was a much kinder face to awaken to, and they coaxed Valjean to drink before anyone began a conversation. Once Valjean had managed to drain his cup, Javert spoke:

“Now, Valjean, I'm afraid it cannot wait any longer. We must tell the truth of your life to your daughter and her husband before there are any further misunderstandings.”

Valjean turned his head towards him and, if it were possible, his face seemed to grow even paler. As Valjean opened his mouth to no doubt feign ignorance, Cosette spoke.

“No more lies, Papa. Please.”

Valjean trembled between his two companions and squeezed his eyes shut. “I… do not do it to hurt you…” he whispered. 

“I know, but whatever it is I shall try my best to understand, okay?”

Valjean remained silent and unseeing. 

“Valjean…” Cosette said, looking to Javert. Valjean's eyes flew open at his name spoken in her voice. “Is that your name? Your true name? Why you had me call you ‘Monsieur Jean’?”

Valjean nodded once. 

“I shall begin, if that is alright with you, and you may interrupt me at any time,” Javert told him only to receive another single nod in response. Valjean remained tense and stared into his lap. Javert hoped when all had been told, that Valjean would breathe a little easier. 

“Your father came from the country - Faverolles - where he was a tree-pruner.” Cosette looked so relieved and grateful to receive just this tiny piece of her father’s history. “You must help me Valjean, I am already stuck. You had to care for your sister’s family?”

“Yes… My sister, she was windowed with seven children and I was not much more than a child myself. I gave them my earnings but what is a tree-pruner to do in winter? We had no money, no food, so I stole.”

Valjean spoke without emotion, as if he was telling the tale of some distant relation who he had never met. Cosette held the hand that was not in Javert's grasp.

“I understand, Papa. It was desperation and love for your family.”

Valjean did not elaborate so Javert picked up the story. “Valjean. You are being deliberately obtuse so that they might think worse of you. Your father attempted to steal a single loaf of bread and was arrested for it.”

“You went to prison for that?” Cosette asked softly. “What of your family?”

“The Law is not merciful,” Valjean muttered. 

“How long for?”

Valjean seemed to want to leave Javert to tell the facts so Javert continued. “His original sentence was five years. This is taking into account that he broke a window which classes it as breaking and entering, and that he was in possession of a firearm at the time, which made it an armed robbery.”

“Oh Papa… How terrible!” Valjean cringed, apparently misinterpreting her meaning and believing she was calling _him_ ‘terrible’. “How could they do such a thing. You had not harmed anyone-”

“He was there for 19 years,” Javert cut in before it became any more difficult to do so. Marius and Cosette both turned to him in shock. 

“He was where for 19 years?” Marius asked. 

“Toulon prison.”

“19?!” Cosette cried. “But _why_?!”

“He attempted to escape four times. Each time extended his sentence.”

Cosette put her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and wet. “Those men in chains we saw in the street that day… Did they do that to you?”

Valjean swallowed, hunching up on himself. “Yes.”

Cosette gently brushed the hair from his brow, kissed his cheek and embraced him. Valjean flinched in surprise. 

“You would still-? Cosette, I broke parole! I am still a wanted man! A convict! I would bring dishonour to you!”

Cosette only squeezed him tighter in defiance. “You are still my father and I still love you - more than ever! You are a _good_ man. I know this, anyone in your company should know this.”

Marius fell to his knees beside Javert. “Can you ever forgive me Monsieur? You must live with us, just as Cosette wished. I will try and make amends. Please, you are my father now and you should have been treated as such.”

Javert wasn't sure how much Valjean comprehended, Cosette was still murmuring softly to him as Marius spoke and then Valjean's face crumbled, his shoulders shook and tears streamed down his cheeks. Javert released his hand to give him the freedom of movement to cover his face as he sobbed in earnest. His family cooed over him and Javert felt distinctly out of place without the physical connection to Valjean. 

He got to his feet (which his knees were thankful for) and moved to the window. All of Valjean's relief, anxiety and pain of the past overflowed, making Valjean shudder helplessly until it ran its course. When the sobs became stutters that petered out into quivering breaths, Valjean continued the story: his parole, the bishop, Petit-Gervais, and all the way up to Montreuil-sur-Mur, his factory and his mayorship. Javert contributed to ensure Valjean's successes were accurately relayed. 

“Javert came to be an inspector there.”

“Ah, and that is how you know each other! And how Monsieur l’Inspecteur knows so much,” Cosette said. 

Javert shifted uncomfortably, feeling distinctly like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “I'm afraid I also have truths to tell. Your father’s story is not complete without them. For some reason he thinks you would think ill of him but truly it is I who should have your disdain. I do not deserve this kindness you treat me with…”

Valjean tried to interrupt but Javert glared at him. “I'm not accustomed to lying, Valjean and I won't start now. I was a guard in Toulon, seven years into your father's sentence. That is where I first knew him, although I knew nothing of him, I did not see him for the man he is. He was merely a convict that ought to be punished, and punishment I gave. I cannot say if I struck you Valjean, but I wielded the lash many times, across many backs-”

“Lash!” Cosette looked as if she might faint and Marius was similarly pale. “Papa…” 

Javert bit the inside of his cheek. This was it: his ultimate confession, to attempt to right all of the wrongs he had brought upon this family. 

“I am sorry for it Valjean,” he said, forcing himself to look into those tired, sorrowful eyes. “I am sorry for not seeing clearly, for treating you in such a way, I-”

“Javert. My friend. It is as you always said: you were doing your duty-”

“And nothing more,” Javert added bitterly. 

Valjean took his hand again. “Thank you for the sentiment. You have come far. I am… glad you are here. As much as we might wish it… the past cannot be changed. We can only better ourselves in the future.”

Javert was trying to do just that but sometimes it felt like an impossible task. He could not be as merciful or kind or devout as Valjean, it was not in his nature. He wanted to press his lips to Valjean's knuckles and pledge his devotion, and that was part of the problem. Javert's devotion always seemed to be fanatical and distorted - first to the Law and now to Valjean. 

“Tell her of Montreuil,” Javert said in a low voice. 

Valjean sighed. “I suppose you have a right to know that above all else, Cosette.” 

The plight of Fantine was finally revealed to the daughter who had no memory left of her, although Valjean did not divulge the full extent of Fantine’s suffering and Javert did not fill in that omission. At the point when ‘Madeleine’ has saved her from arrest, both Cosette and Marius wept. 

“I got her to a hospital but I'm afraid she was much too ill to be able to recover,” Valjean said, his voice solemn. “I tried to make sure she was as comfortable as she could be. She thought of you until the end, my dear. I promised I would bring you to her-”

“But I intervened. You see, I had my suspicions about the identity of this mayor, regardless of all the good he had done. I fear our argument over the fate of your mother made me too hot-headed and I sent a letter to my superiors with my theory that the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer was in fact the dangerous convict Jean Valjean. Of course this was folly and I was told the man Jean Valjean had already been rearrested. Well! What was I to do but confess my misdeeds to your father and ask for my dismissal for being so disrespectful?”

Cosette nodded firmly in approval, with equally firm eyes that reminded Javert of Valjean, even though there was no blood relation between them. 

“But your father, infuriatingly merciful as always, did not see it this way. He saw that I had indeed done my job well, as he knew my accusation to be correct, and refused my dismissal even though it would have saved him much trouble and heartache if he had accepted it. And fearing an innocent man to be condemned to the bange, or worse, in his place - he went to the trial and revealed himself before the court.”

Cosette gasped. “How brave! How kind! And they could not rearrested you for all the good deeds you had done? Did they not wish to clear your name?”

Valjean hung his head. “Well you see, there were further crimes to add to my record now: forgery, falsifying documents and the like because I was signing with a false name.”

“But surely they understood!”

“They were surprised and I was able to leave unhindered. I returned to Montreuil, and your mother, to promise I would find you and raise you…”

“And I dashed her final hopes. I interrupted your mother’s final moments to denounce your father once again and… I killed her. The shock of it killed her and I did not care. All I sought to do was arrest this man, and tar him with the past he had tried so hard to move on from.”

There was a crushing silence that stretched the seconds to unbearable lengths. Valjean still held his hand. Javert did not think he even deserved this small comfort but could not bring himself to pull away. 

“But you are sorry for it now?” Cosette whispered. 

“Yes. I am here to repent, to make amends, to learn to do my duty well in the eyes of God.” Javert forced himself to look at her but he did not have the strength to look her in the eye. “I am sorry your mother did not receive the care and dignity she deserved, and for my part in her suffering and your continued separation.”

Cosette did not respond. She only turned back to her father, shoulders stiff. It was easier to drive the final nail into the coffin when he only saw her hair. 

“Your father was taken back to Toulon to serve a life sentence. The Law considered that leniency as his work in Montreuil reduced it from a death sentence.”

“Death sentence!” Marius squarked. “Why on Earth-?! This is too much. All you have suffered Monsieur! It is beyond belief! It is terrible!”

“Well, it was not so bad,” Valjean said to startled faces. “I had a promise to keep and a good child in my thoughts. No bars would be able to keep me contained, I only had to wait for an opportunity and I escaped to fetch you Cosette. And oh Cosette… You have given me so much. You treated me like no other. You _wanted_ me - me! Of all people - to be your father. You are the single greatest happiness I have ever known. I have tried as best as I know how to raise you and I am only sorry that my circumstances may have hindered you-”

“Of course I would want you to be my father! I can think of no better man, no kinder man. I love you Papa, I do not want you to leave, not ever! I am sorry too, that you had to suffer all of this alone for so long. But no more, Papa. You hear me? You are not alone anymore and you do not have to suffer so.”

Valjean couldn't speak through his tears and Cosette held him close once more. After a moment Marius turned to frown at Javert. 

“But what changed your mind, Inspector? As I recall you did not seem glad to see Monsieur F- Valjean at the barricade.”

“Monsieur Valjean…” Valjean echoed in quiet wonder. 

“I was not, it is true. I believed he would take my life because I still could not see him as a good man. When he released me I had to reconsider all I had known and all I had done.”

“And you did what?” Cosette said her voice sharp and accusatory. “Come here to beg his forgiveness, knowing that he would give it because he is far too kind? After all you have done to him-”

“Cosette,” Valjean implored. “My forgiveness is mine to give and-”

“I helped him return Monsieur Pontmercy home and then I went to throw myself into the Seine. You are right, Madame, I have no right to ask this man’s forgiveness or recieve his kindness, I know this. I know the wrongs I have committed. But we can no more control your father’s excessive charity than the sun could freeze the river. He saved me from myself too, after a night of saving so many, and here I am. I admit sometimes I do not know what to do with myself but if your father wishes me here, I will be here.”

Cosette looked abashed but did not apologise for her remark, or pity him for his weakness. He respected her for that. 

“You must understand, Cosette. Javert is a good man, truly he is, and he has been the only person to know me for who I am and that has been… welcome.”

“But I would understand, Madame, if you did not wish to see me again-”

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Cosette cried, jumping to her feet to look down sternly upon them. “Stop being so dramatic! If you are truly making amends, and I can see that you are, and that my father enjoys your company, then I will not turn you away. There have been too many barriers for too long. I cannot forgive you for your past actions, Inspector, but I will see you make good on your promises.”

Javert nodded his assent, humbled by this small family that had crafted itself from nothing. 

“Monsieur Valjean,” Marius said, turning the conversation to something less awkward for him. His expression had been pained, likely warring between the moral a sense that his wife was right, and his good manners that told him an inspector should not be spoken to in such a manner. “Won't you come and live with us?”

Valjean shied away from Cosette's hopeful smile. “I could not- I do not want to impose-”

“Nonsense! It is no problem at all. You can still be Monsieur Fauchelevent if you wish, it is all the same to me, for we will only call you ‘father’. You have no cause to worry.”

Valjean only stared at them. He appeared trapped, like a beast cowering from a looming hand, not knowing its intention is to caress and not to punish. 

“I think that may be too sudden for him,” Javert allowed himself to intrude. “As I'm sure you understand now, your father is a private man, who shies away from others to protect his own safety. I think that a house full of people might be difficult for him to navigate in his current condition.”

Cosette’s smiled faltered. “Papa? Is that true?”

Valjean looked down at his lap and that was answer enough. Cosette put her hands on either side of his face and raised his head. 

“Do not be sad about it! I will do whatever is best for you, whatever I need to do to make you well again. It is understandable if you are not ready to live with us, but know that you are welcome to. And I will visit every day.”

“You would?” Valjean immediately brightened. 

“Of course!”

“Even if I were to move back to Rue Plumet?” Valjean pressed with some trepidation in his voice. 

“Oh I would love that! How I loved that garden! It will do you good to be outside with the sunshine and the flowers, I am certain. And we could walk in the Luxembourg, what do you think?”

Valjean looked as if he might weep again but Javert didn't think he had any tears left to shed. 

“I think that is a very fine idea.”

\-----

The following day they assisted Valjean in moving back to Rue Plumet. Cosette had stayed with him the previous evening as Javert had to return to his duties but Javert had promised to spend the following evening with him at Rue Plumet. 

Javert had not realised how a heart could hurt, this new budding growth in his chest that had been nurtured in Valjean's careful hands - how it ached! Valjean seemed a shadow of his former self, sluggish and hesitant in his movements, easily exhausted and fragile. It was as if vines had sprouted from Javert's heart to constrict it and tighten painfully whenever Valjean stumbled or closed his eyes in fatigue. How could he have ever thought such emotions were a weakness? It was a great strength to suffer through such internal pain and he respected Valjean's strength more that ever. How much the man cared! How much pain that must have caused him!

During Javert's forced separation it had only ever been a dull ache in his breast, not this intensity of feeling that made Javert rush to Valjean's side to support him or make clumsy offerings of tea. Their combined insistence that Valjean should sit in an armchair while they moved his few belongings into the house, eventually won over. When they were done and Javert returned to him, Valjean was asleep, his eyes still shadowed by dark rings. 

Much to Javert's distress, Cosette informed him that Valjean had given Toussaint to her employ but that there were far too many maids at Rue des Filles du Calvaire and she had let her go. She promised to correct this at once, and Marius would find her that afternoon to ask if she would want to take up her old position. Cosette assured him she had no doubt that Toussaint would accept - she had been with them for many years and was awfully fond of Valjean. Javert hoped she was correct in her assumption. 

Cosette remained until Valjean woke and she had difficulty leaving him but promised to return the next day. Valjean spoke little but wore a dreamy smile as if he did not believe the previous day had happened at all. 

“Valjean,” Javert said once Cosette had gone. He received a blink in response. “Forgive me, I should still call you Fauchelevent-”

“No. Please. I cannot recall a time that my name has been said with pleasant intent. I should not fear it any longer.”

“Precisely, you are fearful of hearing it because of me.”

“But I would have you speak it now and call me ‘friend’... Help me believe Jean Valjean is something more than a convict.”

Javert crouched beside his chair and took his hand. “Jean Valjean is the best man I have ever known.”

“Ah, Javert, I think that is perhaps a bit much-”

“No. It is the truth. Even if you cannot see it, know that it is what I believe. I do not lie Valjean.”

“I know.”

Javert got to his feet to resist the urge to press his lips to that roughened hand. “I was going to ask if you wished to move to the hut. I did not want to start an argument with your daughter but I know what you are like.”

A smile spread across Valjean's face that made Javert feel light-headed. “Yes, it would seem that you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (They find Valjean about a month before he's found (and dies) in canon so he's not too far gone to be rescued from Tragic Old Man Disease!!)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains an instance of self-harm
> 
> thanks to avatoh for betaing <3

Valjean felt careful fingers push the hair from his brow. Not gentle, Javert had never known gentleness, but a light, awkward touch. A smile formed on Valjean's lips and opened his eyes upon hearing Javert's huff but his hand was back in his lap as if it had never touched him. 

“What do you have to smile about? As sick as you are.”

Valjean only felt his smile widen at Javert's concern. “I am quite alright, Javert.”

“You would not even attempt that lie if you could see yourself. Grey is not a healthy complexion.”

Javert had visited every day since he had brought Cosette and Marius to find him at Rue de l’Homme-Armé, and Valjean could not be happier. He could never have dreamt that he would have told Cosette of his life, and that she would still show him so much love once there were no secrets between them. Then there was Javert, who had his own clumsy way of caring, for he was a man unaccosted to soft sentiments and gestures. Valjean found Javert's guff, awkward manner in these moments to be terribly endearing. 

Cosette visited daily too but arrived in the mornings and left before Javert finished work. Valjean suspected they were avoiding each other. He hoped there would be warmth between them in time. 

It had been nearly a week since they had rescued him from his self-isolation and they had settled comfortably into this routine. He had not recovered his strength yet but Cosette made sure that he breakfasted in the morning with her and Javert dined with him in the evenings. Toussaint had returned and fussed over his condition continuously. She purchased finer foods than Valjean would have asked her to buy ordinarily but he did not have the strength to argue. He imagined Cosette had a hand in this. 

It was easier to take meals with Javert than it was to eat with Cosette, he didn't feel so guilty if his appetite left him. Javert understood his frugal relationship with food in a way Cosette never could, and Valjean would never wish her to understand it. On the first day of Valjean's return to life, Javert's expression accurately reflected Valjean's feelings when Toussaint served them beef after the soup both he and Valjean had considered to be their main meal. Valjean ate to encourage Javert to follow his example. It was easier to eat with Javert because if he didn't Valjean knew Javert might not eat at all. 

“Your hair is too long,” Javert muttered. It almost felt like an excuse as to why he had been touching it. 

“Ah, I suppose I am looking rather unkempt.” 

In truth, Valjean did not much care for his own appearance, he only cultivated it to help him maintain the illusion of Madeleine and then Fauchelevent. Here he was just ‘Valjean’ and who was Valjean? How should an ex-con turned kindly old father keep himself? He was not a gentleman but he had money, he had no standing in society but he had contributed to it. 

“Do you think I should cut it?” Javert interacted with many people in his daily work, he would know how Valjean ought to look. 

“Yes. I know you have been called ‘the beggar who gives alms’ but there really is no need for you to look like a vagrant.”

“Very well. I shall see to it after we have eaten.”

“Shouldn't you have someone else do it for you?”

“With a steadier hand you mean? No, it's alright, you are quite correct. I forget how easily I tire. And you would not want to be seen with me if I only managed to trim half of my hair,” Valjean chuckled. 

Toussaint had conceded to prepare them slightly lighter meals - for now at least. Valjean had convinced her that his stomach had to grow accustomed to such food again and Javert seemed relieved with this decision.

As they ate, he noticed Javert's glances, the inspector prepared to leap to his side should his fork slip from his fingers. It had been, to Valjean's embarrassment, something that had happened often in those first days. Javert had not gone so far as to feed him and for that Valjean was glad. He had been able to retain some of his dignity as Javert cut Valjean's food for him without a word. 

Today he was stronger and he was sure he could make it through this meal without assistance, but how pleasant it was for Javert's glances to be due to worry and not suspicion! To have this severe inspector rush to his side, not to grab him by the collar or place him in irons, but to give his aid! 

The next time he caught Javert's glance, he smiled and Javert quickly dropped his gaze to his plate, biting into the piece of duck on his fork as if he had a personal vendetta against it. 

Toussaint had cleared away their plates and they had moved to the hut, where Valjean was always more comfortable. He watched Javert poke the fire in the grate. Valjean had learnt not to argue about being assisted with chores in his home, Javert was far too stubborn to be swayed. 

“Would you do the honours then?”

“Honours?” Javert frowned, placing the poker back on its hook.

“Of making me look respectable.”

“Ah.” Javert fiddled with his shirt cuff. “You evidently have no taste Valjean, first that tattered old coat of yours and now you look at me and believe _I_ could have any clue about how to make you look respectable.”

“Well, you always look very smart. And you have more knowledge of people than I - how do you think I ought to look?”

“That does not mean I have any clue about fashion or cutting hair.”

“I do not desire to be fashionable. Besides, I imagine you have strong opinions about it, as you do everything else.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“That you do have an idea of how my hair ought to look.”

Javert sighed but he did not sound truly irritated. “Very well, it cannot be too difficult to trim it, I cut my own hair after all.”

“You see?” Valjean said, pleased in his small victory. 

“You must sit on a dining chair so I can see what I am doing.”

Valjean did as he was told and Javert came to him with a blanket, a comb and a pair of scissors. He placed the blanket over Valjean's shoulders and began to comb through his hair, likely deciding where to begin. Javert hesitated when his fingers brushed over Valjean's scarred scalp. 

“It is alright,” Valjean murmured. 

“It is not. There was no need for your hair to be shorn so roughly… That should have been added to my list.”

“List?” 

“It is nothing.”

Valjean attempted to turn his head to look at him. 

“Stay still! I will cut my own finger otherwise.”

Valjean shuddered as he heard the rasp of the blades, recalling vividly how his hair had been cut back in Toulon. But they had used a knife, not delicate scissors, and Javert was careful and unhurried. 

Javert made and unhappy grunt. 

“What is it?”

“Curly hair is more problematic than I had anticipated. I held it flat and now it has sprung back it is shorter than I intended.”

“I'm sure it is fine. You are always too harsh on yourself.”

“Hm.”

Javert continued in silence, slow and methodical. Valjean relaxed into it, the repetitive sounds and movements somehow soothing. He was beneath Javert's hands, Javert was safe, but as Valjean’s mind wandered, he could not keep the memories and irrational fears at bay.

“Javert?” He did not wish to break Javert's concentration and he felt foolish that he required reassurance that it was still in fact Javert at his back. Not a guard, not even Javert as a guard, or Javert as an inspector. He wanted to hear that it was Javert, his friend, behind him still.

“Yes?”

Valjean fumbled for a sensible reason to have spoken. “What list?”

“You are persistent,” Javert grumbled. “It was a list of recommendations for the police.”

“Regarding prisoners?”

“Yes. The small injustices in the system - the lack of shoes, the behaviour of the guards - that sort of thing.”

“Where do you plan on sending this letter?” Valjean tempered his amazement that would likely cause Javert to end the discussion. 

“I wrote it and left it for my superiors before I went to the bridge that day.”

“Javert-” Valjean attempted to turn his head again.

“Stay still! I did not realise you fidgeted so much.”

Valjean pondered this revelation in silence. Javert had changed more than he had realised that night. He had already made steps to repent for his past actions, and it was touching that what might have been his final words were for the better treatment of prisoners. The affection that he had grown to feel for Javert swelled in his chest. 

Javert stepped around him to trim the hair around his face and Valjean smiled. 

“Close your eyes or you will get hair in them,” Javert muttered. Anyone else would think his expression was as severe as ever but Valjean knew him better now. 

Valjean did not want to see the clumps of hair fall away. He closed his eyes and remained still until Javert spoke again. 

“There. I believe that is satisfactory.”

“Thank you.”

Javert's frown deepened as he regarded Valjean. “Although it makes the rest look worse. You need to shave.”

Valjean rubbed his bristly neck and grimaced. “I believe you are right.”

“I'm afraid I do not trust your hands to keep a razor steady. If you would permit-”

“Yes. Of course you may do it for me. I am only sorry you have to tend to me like this.”

“Nonsense. It is nothing.” Javert turned on his heel as he spoke to fetch the soap and razor. 

Valjean moved his chair beside the chest of drawers on which Javert could place the basin of water. Javert returned, nodding his approval and set up the shaving utensils. He retrieved a pitcher of water from the house and filled the basin. 

“Untie your cravat and tuck this into the neck of your shirt,” Javert said, throwing a sheet at him before turning away to lather the shaving brush. Valjean thought that perhaps Javert had turned away from him to avoid seeing the marks on Valjean's neck. 

“Done,” Valjean said when he was decent. 

Javert tilted Valjean's chin up so he could slather soap over his neck with the soft brush. He was hunched over so far Valjean wondered, with some amusement, if it would have been easier for Javert for him to stand. 

“Keep you neck straight,” Javert instructed as he picked up the razor. 

Valjean angled his head up further, baring his throat. He did not flinch, but as soon as the blade touched his throat, he grasped Javert's arm, the hand of which he was using to hold Valjean's chin. 

“I will not harm you.” 

“I know.” Still, he could not release Javert's arm. After a moment, Javert made the first stroke of metal against skin regardless, and wiped the foam on the sheet around Valjean neck. 

“You see?”

“I know, Javert. It is not you, it is only my instinct.”

Javert didn't look convinced but Valjean let go of him and folded his hands neatly in his lap. He endured this blade just as easily as the last. Javert cleared the stubble from Valjean's neck and shaved some from high on his cheeks. Then he moved back to the scissors and cropped Valjean's beard neatly to his jawline. Javert roughly dusted the loose hairs from them both, carried the sheet away and returned with a mirror that he thrust into Valjean's hands. 

Valjean did not often look at himself and when he did it was always with trepidation, unsure of who might be looking back at him. He was afraid of seeing the snarling convict or the distant mayor with equally vacant eyes. He was afraid of not recognising himself at all, that he was none of the people he remembered being. This time was no different. He braced himself and he held the mirror up to his face.

So this was Jean Valjean. Neat and calm yet anxious too. An elderly fellow, with not the standing to be a true gentleman. He smiled and it was genuine. Tears threatened to spring to his eyes. This Jean Valjean was happy! He had a friend and a family, and he was honest with them! In this small way he was indeed an honest man. His smile widened and he had to turn the mirror face down in his lap for the sight of such a smile on his face was overwhelming.

Javert stood glaring out of the window, his stance rigid. Valjean realised Javert was concerned about his verdict. 

“One might say I am almost handsome!” Valjean chuckled. 

Javert spun to face him, his cheeks dark, mouth half open in preparation to protest. 

“Ah, forgive me Javert, I do not mean to offend. You have done a very fine job.”

“That is not- You do not offend me. It is only- You could be, I mean to say: you are. Not because I cut your hair. You were and you are… Bah! Nevermind.”

Javert promptly left the room leaving Valjean bewildered. _What_ was he exactly?

Javert returned, looking at a fixed point above Valjean's head. “I thought, if you are feeling strong enough, you should bathe. It will get the loose hairs off your scalp and you'll feel better for it. I imagine it been awhile since you were able to draw a bath.”

Valjean nodded. “That is very thoughtful of you Javert, thank you.”

Javert led him back to the house where he had set up the bath and started to fill it. Valjean's guilt rose the the more trips back and forth Javert made to retrieve water. 

“That is enough I should think.”

Javert frowned at him but conceded to stop. He offered a hand to help Valjean out of his chair. As Valjean took it and heaved himself to his feet, he was reminded of a time in Montreuil when Javert had refused to take his hand. How often and how willingly he took it now! Valjean found himself smiling again. 

Javert remained at his side with his hand at Valjean's elbow as he led him to the bath. Once they were beside it, Javert pushed him away almost forcefully. 

“I will be outside,” he said with his head angled down and away from Valjean. “Take as long as you wish.”

He was gone before Valjean could respond. Valjean sighed and began to undress. He thought that Javert had difficulty interacting with people - that was no bad thing, in fact Valjean found it reassuring. He was not much good at communicating himself. 

He lowered himself into the cool water and already felt better. It made him feel more awake and cleared the clammy sweat from his skin. He closed his eyes and eased himself to lean back. 

\-----

He had taken himself to bed after he had bathed, not exhausted but pleasantly drowsy after drying himself and being warmed by the fire Javert had lit. Javert had been very quiet, and sat vigilant by Valjean's bedside. Perhaps he was tired too. 

The Bible slipped from his hands and thudded onto the ground, Valjean’s fingers too weak to hold it any longer. Javert looked up instantly at the noise, just like a hound that catches sight of his quarry. Javert rose from his seat and picked it up. 

“Thank you Javert, but I fear I am too tired to read it today.”

“That is no reason to keep it on the floor and besides, do you not already know it by heart?”

Valjean chuckled weakly. “No, I do not. And even if I did, the act of reading the words is pleasant.”

Javert grimaced, flicking through the pages. 

“Ah yes, I don't suppose I can convince you of that can I?”

Javert did not respond but sat on the edge of the bed, scrutinising the text he had come across. 

“You would read if you were able to?” He asked. 

“I suppose so.”

“Well then, I am by no means as eloquent as you, and no doubt the poetry of the verse will be lost in my voice, but… I could recite something if you so wished.”

“I would like that very much.”

Javert hesitated, as if suddenly nervous under Valjean's expectation. After a few more moments of scanning the pages, Javert cleared his throat. 

“Here, I believe this is relevant and then you can tell me which page you were on. _Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees… Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not: behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompense; he will come and save you._ ”

It was true, Javert's recital was not beautiful, merely utilitarian and slightly mumbled in the beginning, but Valjean's heart lifted nonetheless. After flicking his gaze to Valjean and deeming his reaction satisfactory, Javert continued with more confidence.

“ _Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert._ ”

Javert stopped again, apparently having read all he intended to of that passage. ‘Relevant’ he had called it - Javert saw the two of them within that text, and Valjean was overjoyed that Javert could find meaning in the Bible and ways to correlate it to his own life. Valjean could guess the idea of it: that Valjean would be healed and Javert saw clearly now, but he wondered what Javert's precise explanation was. Were the streams this remarkable friendship that seemed to constantly grow? That nourishment to a parched, lonely soul? He knew if he asked, Javert would likely close up. 

“Isaiah, isn’t it? It is a beautiful passage. Thank you.”

“Indeed. Which book were you on?”

“Here, I will find it.” Valjean reached for the Bible and Javert passed it to him. 

He found his place quickly enough and handed it back. Javert continued from where he had left off, frowning at the page as he read, as if the words would confess their hidden meanings to him beneath that hard stare. 

His manner of reading did not soften after numerous pages, it was at times stilted and mostly monotone, but Valjean did not mind. He wondered when Javert had learnt to read. Likely at a younger age than Valjean had, but he did not imagine Javert had cause to read long passages aloud often. 

With Valjean's mind wandering, and the steady rumble of Javert's voice in his ears, it did not take long for Valjean to fall asleep. 

\-----

Javert was still by his bedside when Valjean awoke in the early morning, as if he could not leave with Valjean unaware. Valjean stroked his neat beard and looked at the shadow of Javert asleep in the chair. When had the distinctive figure of the Inspector ceased to strike fear into his heart? To see the steady rise and fall of Javert's chest only filled his heart with warmth. 

He was content to watch, thoughts drifting in and out of his mind, too tired to make sense of them, until he slipped back into sleep. 

Javert was gone when he awoke again, this time to bright Spring sunshine. “Javert?” He found himself calling, with cautious hope.

“Do you require assistance?” Javert asked, his head appearing in the doorway. 

“No thank you. I just wondered if you were still here.”

“Ah, I will be leaving shortly.”

“No, I am not asking you to leave-”

“Toussaint is cooking breakfast, that is likely what woke you. Your daughter will be here soon.”

“Will you not join us?”

“I must be going to work. I will see you this evening,” Javert started to bow, as if he had been dismissed from a meeting, then seemed to realise what he was doing and quickly jumped back. He coughed and buttoned his coat. “Until then.”

Valjean passed the morning pleasantly with Cosette, who had been overjoyed that he was looking so well. They sat in the garden together and discussed what should be planted in the coming months. Javert arrived as soon as she had departed, almost as if he had been watching and waiting for her to leave. 

They settled in to their usual chairs in the hut and Valjean asked about Javert's work. It felt just like how things were before… No, it was better. They were more relaxed in each other's company and Javert was truly his friend. 

He told Javert about his day in the garden and all of his plans for it. 

“The fresh air has done you good,” Javert observed. 

“Yes, I believe you are right.”

Javert looked thoughtful and it was a few moments before he spoke again. “Do you miss the country?”

Valjean paused. Did he? He had not thought his wants and needs important, he had lived as necessity dictated: to be hidden amongst the populous of Paris. He had no reason to return to Faverolles. He was certain that his family were no longer there. 

“I do not think so.”

Valjean did not realise they had fallen into silence. He shook his head. 

“Forgive me, Javert. Your question on the country put me in a stupor. I had not thought on it in a long time.”

“The country?”

“The country. And… Where I began. When I made that fateful choice…” He shook his head again in an attempt to dislodge the thought. He had told Cosette, but he had felt disconnected. It had been almost like a dream. He had not tried and failed to remember what his sister and her children had looked like. 

Javert was still patiently staring at him and an awkwardness filled the silence. Both elements combined spurred Valjean into speech. 

“My sister. And her children. I had all but forgotten them. How wretched! My own blood! Had I not stolen it might have been freely given… I did not _ask_. And my sorry attempt at providing bound them to a worse fate!” He swallowed a shaky breath and felt tears of sorrow and regret sting his eyes. “You told me once… That you had looked for them yourself and found no trace…”

The silence descended again and Valjean did not have the heart to fill it. He wallowed in it, dejected. 

He was unsure how long they sat thus. He heard Javert shift a few times, inhale as if he were about to speak, but no words would reach the air. 

“Come!” Javert barked at long last, startling Valjean out of his reverie quite harshly. “It is true I do not know much of familial obligation, but had you not lead the life you have done, you would never have been a mayor either.”

“I did not want to be…” Valjean said in a forlorn voice. 

“Yes, yes, twice denied, infuriating as ever, I know, but! You provided for the town better than any before, ensured jobs, good health and education for the people - all people, of all standing.” He grumbled under his breath when Valjean's demeanour did not change. “And what of the girl?! She would have been lost too and here she has found happiness. You have achieved much.”

“But my efforts in Montreuil did not last…”

“That is true.” Javert conceded. “But that is no fault of yours, how it fell away when you left. I am…” Javert hesitated and Valjean didn't think he would finish. “I am glad you did not see what became of it after all of your efforts.”

Despite the topic of conversation, Valjean was filled with a warmth that spread from deep within his gut. It wasn't quite praise but almost. A rare and wonderful thing from Javert of all people. 

“Pride is a sin, Javert.”

“Bah! If God would refuse to allow acknowledgement of your achievements then he is a fool.”

“Javert! You should not say such things.”

“I have said worse to, and about, Him when He confounds me so.”

“You should not!” Valjean scolded playfully. “Come!” He grabbed Javert's wrist, pulling him to follow. “We shall pray and ask for you to be forgiven.”

Javert made a noise of protest but moved where he was directed. They approached the bed and Valjean knelt beside it. 

“Join me,” he patted the mattress. 

Javert sighed and knelt beside him and mirrored Valjean's motion of clasping his hands on the bed. Their elbows touched. 

“Oh Lord, please do not take Javert's words to heart. Show him patience and forgive his temper.”

Valjean cracked an eye open to see Javert glaring at him. Valjean chuckled. Javert closed his eyes. 

“Oh Lord,” Javert repeated. “Teach Valjean to be more discerning and not carry so much money with him. Do not accept any self-sacrifice from him or we will have words.”

“Amen.”

“Amen,” Javert nodded and helped Valjean to his feet. 

“How long were you in Montreuil?” Valjean had wondered and as Javert had mentioned it, it was a perfect excuse to ask. 

“After you were arrested, you mean?” Javert said without flinching. 

Valjean nodded. 

“Not long at all, but long enough to see how your presence benefitted the town. Once my suspicions about you were proven correct… well, it put me in a favourable light to my superiors and they welcomed the transfer to Paris.”

“It was a fine example of your skills as an inspector.”

“Do not say that,” Javert snapped. 

“It is true.”

“No.” Javert shook his head. “If you had not given yourself up I would have taken my superiors statement that Valjean had already been captured as the truth.”

“I think not, you would have known in your heart. Just as you still recognised me after I had been reported dead.”

Javert shuddered. “That is enough. I will speak of it no longer.”

“I do not blame you-”

“You should.”

Javert fell into a sullen silence that Valjean wasn't able to fully retrieve him from. Javert recognised that he wasn't making conversation and departed shortly after, even though Valjean truly did not mind them sitting in silence. Javert did not seem to hear his protests. 

\-----

Valjean trimmed his beard himself and set about shaving the stubble from his neck. Javert would be glad to see him keeping his appearance in order and the proof that his condition was improving. 

He looked into the mirror, at a face that was recognisable but not familiar. He traced the lines with his fingers, small furrows of a harsh life lived through determination. His broad nose that still made his face brutish, no matter how he covered his physique. His beard softened his face well and the curly nature of his hair perhaps giving the illusion he was harmless - like a weathered old sheep. 

Javert had always believed him to be dangerous. Valjean wondered if Javert still thought he had the potential for violence in him. He would always see Valjean's strength, he would never be fooled by his meek appearance. 

Valjean certainly looked healthier than he had done a week ago, he looked better than he had in months. Worry began to creep up his spine that if he was well, Javert would feel that his services were no longer required and leave him. He had stopped visiting and had ceased replying to Valjean's messages before, for reasons unknown, and yet these past few days it seemed as if Javert _wanted_ his company. Valjean could make no sense of it. If he considered Valjean his friend, why had he not visited in so long? He did not want to ask. Javert was always honest and Valjean was afraid of what the answer would be. 

Valjean recalled his foolish idea of pretending he had lost his Bible in an attempt to be considered useful to Javert for longer and keep him visiting. Then he remembered something else: when he had branded his own arm in a desperate attempt to strike fear into Thenardier and his men. The wound had festered and he had been sick with fever in the weeks after. Cosette had tended to him, they were nearly inseparable. How she had cared! How she had worried! He had been glad of the injury then and he had felt some sorrow once it had healed. 

He looked down at his forearms - they were bare as he had rolled up his sleeves to stop his cuffs getting wet. He stroked the scar of the burn, a smooth diagonal line across the inside. Javert would still visit if he thought Valjean was not ready to care for himself. 

He picked up the razor once more, feeling as if he were in a dream. He pressed the blade horizontally against the scar, unthinking and unfeeling. He watched as the skin bowed and then broke under the blade, a small wave of red rising up and trickling down the curve of his arm. 

He removed the razor and was still for a moment, the only sound a quiet _‘drip… drip…’_ against the floorboards.

_What was he doing?!_

He threw the razor into the basin, water splashing his shirt. He hurriedly pressed the cloth the had been using to shave against the cut. He became aware of the pain as the soap from the cloth made the cut sting. He trembled, watching the stain seep through. How would he explain himself? That he had slipped? The location was too peculiar for that. Javert would see what he had done and he would be angry. He would not understand. Valjean wasn't sure he understood it himself.

“-Monsieur? Monsieur Fauchelevent? The Inspector is here.” Toussaint said through the door. 

Valjean's throat constricted. He felt a throb of pain as he tightened the grip on his arm. His heart thudded in his ears. He wanted to escape. There was nowhere to run. 

His breathing was harsh and loud, he was dizzy. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt a tear slide down his cheek. What was wrong with him? Why could he not be happy and live a normal life?

Perhaps because it was something he was never meant to have. 

“Valjean?”

Valjean flinched. He could not speak. He could not move. He could only hold his arm against himself. 

“Valjean? I am worried.”

Valjean's heart twinged with hope. _Worried_. Javert was worried for _him_. 

“I am coming in,” Javert said even though he had already opened the door.

Valjean had his back to him, still frozen in position. He was certain Javert would see his shoulders shaking.

“Good God Valjean! What has happened?!” Javert grabbed him and spun him around. Valjean held his arm tightly against his chest to hide the injury. 

“Nothing,” Valjean said without looking at him. 

“There is blood! On the basin, on your shirt. Let me see your arm.”

Valjean did not move. 

“Show me,” Javert demanded. 

Valjean remained still and Javert pulled the injured arm away from his chest with a vice-like grip. Valjean stared as the bloodied cloth was pulled away. Javert sighed in relief. 

“It's not too bad. Not too deep. It will heal well enough so long as we make sure to keep it clean. Here, keep pressure on it while I find clean water and something to bandage it with.”

Valjean obeyed and heard Javert opening and closing drawers heavy-handedly, going back to the house, likely snapping at Toussaint that there was nothing to worry about and that he could find what he needed himself. Javert rushed in and out with clean linen and returned with a fresh basin of water. 

“Here, let us wash it.” 

Valjean approached and freely offered his arm. Javert uncovered it, guided it over the basin and carefully bathed the wound. Once he was satisfied that he had cleaned it well enough, he patted it dry and bandaged it. 

“There.” Javert said, rolling Valjean's sleeves back down. “... I will not have you hurt yourself. You've suffered enough - more than enough. I will not have it.”

Valjean hung his head in shame but Javert put a hand under his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. They were not cold or angry, but tired. 

“I am sorry,” Valjean whispered, holding onto Javert's arm. 

“If… If you have need of me, you will say: ‘tend to me’ and I will do it. I will… trim your beard or tie your cravat, anything you wish of me, I will do it. You do not have to say why. But you must ask.”

Valjean blinked at him, his fingers bunching in the fabric of Javert's coat. “You… would not leave?” His voice was thick and choked with whirling emotions. 

A pained grimace came over Javert's face and he clasped Valjean by the shoulders. “I would not. It was not my wish to leave your company in the first place. I will not cease contact without reason or warning again.”

Valjean rested his forehead against Javert's shoulder. “... Thank you.” When he repeated the words his voice cracked. 

He stuttered in an attempt to speak again but he barked out a harsh sob, pressing his face against Javert's shoulder. Javert tensed as Valjean's arms circled his waist, but after a moment Javert's arms rested over Valjean's shoulders. 

Valjean had never been in anyone's embrace other than Cosette's. He had never rested his head upon someone's shoulder or been supported by another in affection. He realised Javert must have seen the scars on his wrists from his imprisonment as he had tended to him and Valjean found that he did not mind. He exhaled a shaky sigh and separated from Javert to wipe the tears from his face.

Javert guided him to the bed and once Valjean had laid down, Javert sat on the edge. Javert picked up the Bible and began to read. 

“... But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, by grace ye are saved.” 

Their eyes met and they stared at each other. Valjean was unsure of what was happening but he felt warm and comfortable in a way that was to do with more than just the fire and his bed. Javert cleared his throat and went back to reading.

It was only then that Valjean realised their fingers were intertwined. 


	9. Chapter 9

“I have a suggestion,” Javert said, when they were settled once again in Valjean’s hut at Rue Plumet. He had been agitated all evening and had only responded to Valjean's attempts at conversation with distracted hums. 

“Oh?” 

Javert stuck out his chin in determination, to force himself to finally speak of what had been occupying his mind. “Clean air would do you good.” 

Valjean waited for him to elaborate. 

“I have discussed it with your daughter-” 

“You did?” 

“Well, in letters. She is in full support of the idea.” 

“And what, exactly, is this idea of yours?” 

“That you - that is to say _we_ , for I said you would not be left alone - we would go on a journey.” 

“Where to?” Valjean asked, although he did not feel that their destination mattered - he would have Javert's company, be his travelling companion, for the duration of the trip. The thought of that alone was pleasant enough. 

“I heard that the salt water bathing at Trouville is beneficial to one’s health, and the air will be clean.” 

“Trouville!” 

“What is the problem?” Javert frowned. 

“Why, it must be a two day journey!” 

“And?” 

“What about your work?” 

“I would not be making these plans if I had not discussed it with my superiors first. I have rarely taken sick in all my years of service, I have no familial obligations, I work all hours. They are in agreement that I can take this time off.” 

“It is well deserved. They are paying you still?” 

“That is not your concern and this isn't about me taking a break from work. This is about _you_.” 

“It is a nice suggestion indeed, Javert. Thank you.” 

“So?” 

“Hm?” 

“What do you say?” 

“Oh, of course I will go! When are we going? I have never been to Trouville, have you?” 

“We can go in a week or so, if you wish. My work permitting. I cannot leave in the midst of a case but I have nothing pressing at the moment. And no, I have never been to Trouville. I believe as it is only June it should not be too busy there. As the weather gets warmer, more people will be attracted to the sea. It is becoming quite fashionable now.” 

Valjean nodded, still stunned that Javert would wish to do this with him - _for_ him. 

“You are correct, it is a two day trip. We will stop at Louviers.” 

“I have never been there either.” Valjean immediately felt foolish for saying so - of course he had never been anywhere, having to spend his life in hiding. Javert knew all of the places he had been since he had left Toulon. 

“Nor I,” was all Javert said. 

Ever since Valjean had hurt himself two weeks ago, Javert would rarely let him out of his sight when he visited. Yet he seemed more hesitant to speak, as if there was something he wished to say but didn't know how. 

Valjean had to let Javert shave his stubble for him. The agreement was this: Valjean was not allowed to shave, but Javert would not offer. Valjean had to learn to ask for his assistance. That had been difficult, Valjean was unused to making such requests and thinking that his needs were of any importance. It had been three days before he managed to ask, and that was only because Cosette had been concerned he was getting sick again. 

He tried to explain to Javert that he would not hurt himself, and that he was sorry, but Javert only shook his head. 

_“That is right. You won't.”_

Valjean worried that Javert thought less of him for behaving in such a way after he had been treated so well. But Javert wanted to go on a journey with him, he still visited every day. Javert was not easily deterred. 

“I am looking forward to it already,” Valjean said and was rewarded with a lopsided smile. 

\-----

A week later, Javert came by in the morning, before the diligence arrived. Cosette had insisted that they pay the driver for private transport. Valjean argued he did not wish to hoard empty seats for no good reason. It was no trouble to him if they were all travelling in the same direction. 

Cosette would not be swayed and paid for the diligence in advance. She said that Valjean had given her the money to do as she pleased, and to know that her father travelled safely would please her greatly. Valjean had no counter argument to that. 

Valjean had not been sure how to pack for a holiday; any time he had gathered his belongings he could not be sure that he would return to his residence As much as he tried to reassure himself that he would not be discovered and threatened with arrest while they were away, he still could not bring himself to leave the candlesticks behind. He wrapped Cosette's little mourning dress around them and tucked the bundle securely at the bottom of his trunk. 

They would only be gone for ten days, and yet it felt like something of an adventure. Valjean would visit places he had never seen before, he would be able to explore for leisure and not for the purposes of finding escape routes. He could be out in the daylight, face turned up to the sun, unafraid with Javert by his side. 

“Are you ready?” Javert asked, his own trunk by his feet. He was dressed in labourers clothes but with his caped greatcoat he wore as part of his working uniform. 

“Yes. I believe the journey will be very pleasant - look how the sun is shining!” 

“I believe you are right. Ah, I think I hear the carriage.” 

They stepped outside but the carriage that approached was not the diligence, but the Pontmercy’s own coach. As soon as the horse had halted, Cosette jumped down and ran to her father, flinging her arms around his neck. 

“I just had to see you before you left!” She kissed his cheek. 

“That is very kind of you, my dear. It will be more than a week before I see your face again! How I will miss you.” 

Cosette held both of his hands in her own. “You will see me again soon enough. And you must tell me about all the things you see! You must _enjoy_ yourself!” 

“I will, you must not worry about me. I am already having such a pleasant time and we have not even left yet!” 

Cosette laughed and kissed his cheek again. “I will be thinking of you.” 

Marius approached and shook Valjean's hand once Cosette had released him. “You look much better, father. I'm sure this trip will do you a world of good.” 

“You look after him, Inspector,” Cosette said sternly. 

“Of course, Madame.” 

“Ah, there is the diligence now,” Marius pointed. “Come along Cosette, we are blocking the road.” 

“But I wish to wave as they leave!” 

“Very well,” Marius went and instructed the driver to move onto the next street and then loaded their luggage into the diligence when it pulled up. 

Cosette embraced Valjean once more before he took Javert's proffered hand and stepped into the carriage. Marius gave them a final farewell too, squeezing Valjean’s shoulder gently in affection before he stepped back and closed the door. 

“I miss you already, Papa!” Cosette called and driver whipped the horses, starting them off on their journey. 

She waved to them and Valjean returned the gesture all the way down the street until they turned a corner and Cosette was no longer in sight. Valjean's hand hovered by the window for a moment before he lowered it. He was _leaving_ her. That was not something he had done before. Even when he had given her up to Marius, he remained in the city in case she had need of him. 

“What if there is trouble and I am needed?” 

“She will be fine, Valjean. Do not worry.” 

Valjean sighed. “I am unused to this.” 

“As am I. You know I almost ended up at the stationhouse this morning.” 

Valjean smiled. “I can believe it. I hope this trip will not be too dull for you.” 

“I am glad for this trip. I am not as young as I used to be, my joints protest at running around Paris all night.” 

“Perhaps you require the benefits of saltwater also.” 

“Hm.” 

They settled into silence, each looking out of the windows at Paris rolling by, until the houses gave way to green open spaces and the cobbles turned into a dirt road. 

“We must talk,” Javert murmured. Valjean turned to look at him and waited patiently for him to continue. “You will not hurt yourself. Ever. You must promise me that.” 

“I said I would not. Javert, I am sorry-” 

“No. You should not be sorry to me. This is the point. You should be sorry to yourself. I-” Javert growled in frustration, trying to find the right words. “After all your body has been through. It has served you well, you should not treat it that way.” 

Valjean had not thought of it like that. He had not thought much at all when it had happened. 

“And after all you've preached to me about the worth of all life, even my own, you cannot throw that back in my face acting like this, as if your life is worth less than mine.” 

“I was not trying to-! Javert you know I would not… end my life.” 

“Do I? Even if you didn't intend to, a blade is a dangerous thing.” 

“I promise I won't… do anything like that again.” 

Javert studied his face. “Tell me why you did it and maybe I'll believe this promise.” 

“Javert! I would not lie to you!” 

“Forgive my scepticism but your track record isn't good.” 

Valjean sighed and looked down at his lap, picking nervously at his fingernails. 

“Do you remember when you caught Thenardier and his gang at Gorbeau House?” 

“Do not change the subject.” 

“I am not. Before you came I burnt my arm with a poker in an attempt to scare them off.” 

“You-?! What? Why? And of course it was you,” Javert muttered. “I knew it.” 

“I wanted to show them that their threats and their violence would not work on me, that I had suffered worse, that I was not afraid.” 

“You are a fool.” 

“And after that, Cosette tended to me and it was… pleasant.” 

Javert grabbed him by the cravat. “ _No._ ” 

Valjean was speechless. For the first time in many months he saw Javert as his hunter once more, claws at his throat. The fear must have been clear in his eyes because Javert relaxed his grip. 

“She would have shown you such love each day if you _let_ her. You know this. You can see this now when she visits you.” 

“... Yes.” 

“You have not answered my question.” 

Javert already knew the answer but it appeared that he wanted to make Valjean admit it to himself. “I was well. I did not want you to leave. You know this.” 

“Yes, but I think there is more.” 

“I…” Valjean squeezed his eyes shut. He said he would not lie. “I wanted to be cared for.” He put his face in his hands. “I know I do not deserve it, especially after acting in such a way-” 

“Enough. Look at me.” 

Valjean raised his eyes to meet Javert's stern expression. 

“You deserve whatever you wish. I know it is difficult for you to believe, but at least believe that you deserve anything from me.” 

Although Valjean still did not quite believe it, he nodded. 

“Good. Now, what was it I told you to do?” 

“Ask.” 

“So ask something of me now.” 

“But sometimes I cannot say what it is that I want. I do not know.” 

“Then you must try harder. What do you want?” 

Valjean chewed his lip. He didn't want for anything. He wanted to be here with Javert, his good friend who cared so much. Valjean shifted closer. He did not know how to put it into words, so he rested his head on Javert's shoulder. Javert sighed and Valjean felt his hand at his waist. 

“I suppose that will do for now,” Javert murmured. 

“I promise I will not hurt myself again.” 

“Good.” 

\-----

It was evening when they arrived in Louviers, but the night was warm and the sky was still clear. Valjean thanked the driver for his service and despite the fact he had probably already been paid handsomely, Valjean could not help pressing another coin into the man's palm for him to buy a good meal and a bed for the night. 

They had only stopped once for refreshment and to stretch their legs, and they had made good time. Still, there was not much to do besides eat and sleep to ready themselves for another early departure. 

“I'm afraid we only have one room Messirs,” the innkeeper informed them. “I believe the fellow who just came in must have been your driver, I'm sure you can make an arrangement with him about the rooms.” 

“I am sure we will manage with an extra blanket or two, if you can spare them,” Valjean said. 

“Of course Monsieur, I will have them sent up to the room.” 

“Thank you,” Valjean turned to Javert but he was already halfway into the dining room, surveying the other patrons with a critical eye. Valjean turned back to the innkeeper who was watching Javert with equal suspicion. “Do not worry Monsieur, he is with the police - an inspector. It is his habit, that's all.” 

“Ah, then I am glad to have him! Nothin’ to hide here Monsieur. He might keep the rabble out.” 

“You have trouble here?” 

“Sometimes. It's a popular stopping point, you know. We get all sorts through here. Seems like you are just passing through too - leaving again in the morning I take it?” 

“Yes,” Valjean replied, reluctant to give away information about their destination. “I have never been here before though. Could you tell me something of this town? Perhaps I will get some time to take a look before we depart tomorrow.” 

“Well,” the innkeeper leaned back, folded his arms and tilted his head in a way that made him look like a proud father about to relay the achievements of his children. “I’ll have you know, Louviers produces the finest cloth in all of France!” 

“It does?” Valjean leaned forward with interest. 

“Got the first factory in 1785 and it’s gone from strength to strength ever since. I’d recommend taking something back for your wife, Monsieur, it’s very fine.” 

“Ah, I am widowed. But for my daughter, perhaps. Yes, I’d very much like to look at the factories and their wares - manufacturing interests me greatly.” 

“Then it is a shame you are only staying one night, Monsieur.” 

“Perhaps we will find more time on our return to Paris.” He caught Javert frowning at him from across the room. “Ah, could we trouble you for some food? It has been a long journey.” 

“No trouble at all! I’ll be right with you.” 

“My apologies,” Valjean said as he approached Javert. “Please, take a seat. Food is on the way.” 

“Good,” Javert muttered, sitting at a corner table from where he could observe the room. He did not speak again. 

“Javert? Are you alright?” 

Javert grimaced. “ _I am unused to it_ \- that is how you put it, wasn’t it? I feel out of place - that I do not _have_ a place if it is not within the Force. I have never been part of society. I feel like an imposter.” 

“I have been outside of society for most of my life. We make good company for each other here,” Valjean attempted a smile but did not receive a response. “And you have nothing to hide. The innkeep is very happy to have you here.” 

“Only after you told him of my occupation, I imagine.” Javert waved his hand in an irritated manner. “It is no matter. I should expect it.” 

“Javert.” Valjean implored. “ _I_ am happy to have you here, just as _Monsieur Javert_ , citizen of France. Nothing more and nothing less.” He frowned. “Wait, is Javert your given name? My friend! I do not even know your name!” 

“My name is Javert. That is all I wish to be called.” 

Valjean's curiosity was tempted by this revelation but he did not wish to worsen Javert's mood by prying further. “Very well Monsieur Javert, here comes our food.” 

“Indeed, Monsieur Valjean.” 

Valjean startled. Javert had only said it in good humour but Valjean was reminded of the Bishop referring to him as ‘Monsieur’ before he had named him as ‘Brother’, and how it had filled him with such warmth and shock - the only person to ever do so seeing him for who he truly was. 

He realised he had half expected Javert to say ‘le Maire’ - perhaps the only truly respectable person he had ever been and yet… ‘ _Valjean_ ’. Javert had seen him as a man and named him as his equal, as a regular member of society, an ordinary man with an ordinary name. A name! It was just a name. How absurd it had shackled him so and now it could feel so powerful in a way he did not fully understand but could feel, unraveling inside himself. 

The tears blurred his vision for an entirely different reason than before. He cleared his throat and began to eat before Javert noticed that there was anything amiss. 

\-----

They went up to their room once they had finished, small but clean, with extra blankets folded on the bed. Javert picked them up and began to lay them out on the floor. Valjean considered the bed. 

“Javert. That is not necessary. You are slim and I am short, there is enough room for us both on the bed. You will be stiff from the journey and sleeping on the floor will not help matters.” 

Javert looked frozen to the spot, eyes wide. 

“You… You do not believe that I would… harm you while you slept?” Valjean said. “I understand if you do not want to share a bed with a convict-” 

“You know I think no such thing,” Javert snapped, and yet he still eyed the bed as if it were a trap. 

Valjean shifted. “I am going to change. Please… do not look…” 

It should not matter, Javert knew that his scars were there, it was pointless to hide them, but it was one thing Valjean still preferred to be kept hidden. He did not think he would ever be ready to be truly himself, to remove his shirt without looking over his shoulder, to be comfortable in his own skin - it seemed impossible. 

“I will not,” Javert said, turning away to face the opposite wall. 

Valjean quickly removed his coat, cravat, waistcoat and shirt, then immediately pulled his nightshirt on. Once he had pulled off the rest of his clothes, he quickly slipped under the sheets and looked back to Javert. His back was turned and was still in the process of undressing. 

He was shirtless and his shoulders were tense. The candlelight gave his skin a warm glow and Valjean found his gaze following the lines of his body. Javert _was_ slim, but not undernourished, and Valjean felt pleased that his hospitality had likely helped Javert in this regard. 

The only clothes Javert seemed to possess were those he wore as his uniform and labourers clothes he used for undercover work. But this was ‘Monsieur Javert’, not the Inspector. He was not hidden or wrapped in authority, his body had the softness and the curved lines of muscle of any man. He was human, flesh and blood. Their bodies could not look more different but they were the same. 

Javert had untied the ribbon that held his hair, and it fanned out across his back as it was released, the grey shining like silver in the light. It distracted Valjean for a moment, remembering how it felt beneath his fingers, but then Javert loosened his trousers and Valjean quickly turned his to the wall, his face hot. 

Why? He had seen plenty of naked men before and yet it felt as if his heart had lodged itself in his throat. It must be the shame of his poor manners in not giving Javert the same privacy he had granted Valjean. 

He heard the rustling of fabric and then irritating tutting. 

“Don't leave your clothes all over the floor Valjean.” 

Valjean looked back at him with a sheepish smile and watched as Javert retrieved and folded his clothes. Javert slipped into bed without looking at him or saying a word. He remained at the very edge, facing away. Valjean sighed, turned back to the wall and closed his eyes. 

\-----

Valjean awoke in the night. Javert was not beside him. He immediately lit the lamp by the bed and surveyed the room. Javert's coat, trousers and boots were gone but his luggage remained. That reassured him a little but he could not help but worry. 

He tucked his nightshirt into his trousers, pulled on his coat and shoes and crept out of the room. The inn was silent, and Valjean thought it must be the early hours of the morning. The stairs creaked under his feet and he went outside into the cool air. 

He did not know where he should look, but he walked and hoped God would guide him. He came to the stables, which only contained horses, one of which was awake. It whad a streak of white on its nose and Valjean recognised it as a horse that drove their coach. It flicked it's ears and regarded him. Valjean approached at stroked it's muzzle. 

“What are you doing awake, hm?” He murmured. “You must rest to have the strength for our journey tomorrow.” 

The horse blinked. 

“I don't suppose you've seen Javert anywhere, have you? He's my travelling companion.” 

“Valjean!” A voice hissed. Valjean stared, dumbfounded, at the horse. 

“Perhaps I am still dreaming…” 

“Valjean! I'm up here! What are you doing?” 

Valjean stepped back and saw a Javert crouched in the edge of the stable roof glaring down at him. 

“I was looking for you! What are _you_ doing?” Valjean squinted but he couldn't discern Javert's expression in the dark. 

“I couldn't sleep.” 

“I don't think you'll sleep out here any better,” Valjean replied as he looked for the simplest way onto the roof. 

“I was watching the stars- Valjean! What are you doing? Stop.” 

Valjean already had his hand on the edge of the roof after some nimble footwork got him halfway up the wall. 

“We can speak much easier if I am up there with you.” 

Javert scrambled forward to assist him, grabbing his arms and hauling him up. 

“It's much easier to climb up from the back. There are crates.” 

“You could have told me that.” 

“I didn't think you would- argh, you infuriate me. Come on before the roof buckles under our weight.” 

Javert held Valjean's arm once again and moved up to the peak of the roof, which was level and wide enough for a person to lie down. Javert did just that, lying on his back, looking up at the sky. Valjean followed suit, positioning himself so the tops of their heads almost touched. 

It was an incredibly clear night indeed, the stars bright and numerous. 

“Do you look at the stars often?” Valjean asked. 

“I suppose so.” 

“Do you _like_ to?” 

“I do not receive any particular sort of joy from it but it can be… soothing.” 

Valjean hummed in agreement. Moments passed in absolute stillness and silence. 

“... I believe my first memories were of the stars. There was not much else to look at, and nothing so interesting as the night sky.” 

“I am glad you could see the beauty in it,” Valjean said softly. “Do you know the constellations?” 

“Of course,” Javert scoffed. “My mother taught me.” 

“Your mother?” 

“Yes. I have thought of her more since you have made me… reevaluate the Law. The law of man, the law of God, moral law. I do not remember her. I pushed her from my mind, desperate to not associate myself with her at all. You know, I do not even know what she was arrested for. I did not care. For all criminals must be sinners. That is what I thought. Guards called me a bastard of the worst sort, a whore-son of criminals, but thinking about it now, I have no evidence if she was truly a whore or not. It may have just been a slur, not a fact.” 

“It does not matter if she was. You are a man of your own making.” 

“I cannot say if that is a good thing.” 

“I should not have to remind you of Fantine’s life. You would not think less of Cosette for her mother's circumstances would you?” 

“No.” 

“And you should know now that desperate people are pushed to desperate acts. I would not think less of you _or_ your mother if it happened to be the truth.” 

“But that is you, Valjean. It is as your daughter says - you are quite singular.” 

“Hm.” 

He opened his eyes when Javert tapped his shoulder. He had not realised he had closed them. He was met by the sight of Javert's face leaning over him, his hair falling over his shoulders, framed by an endless array of stars. 

“-Valjean!” 

“Hm? I am sorry, what were you saying?” 

“You were asleep. You need to go back to bed. I cannot have you get sick, sleeping outside at night. How would I explain that to your daughter?” 

Javert helped him up and made sure he was steady before they made their way back to the ground. 

“Only if you come too,” Valjean yawned. 

“Yes, yes. Now come along before anyone wakes up and wonders what we are doing.” 

\-----

The next time Valjean awoke it was morning and he still had two hours before they departed. He sat up to find Javert asleep on the floor, his hair spread in unruly waves across the folded blanket he was using as a pillow. Valjean sighed and smiled to himself. He lightly stepped out of bed, dressed and went downstairs. 

The innkeeper greeted him warmly, remembering their conversation from yesterday. Valjean found it unnerving - he did not wish to be remembered, he wanted to pass through, unseen like a shadow. He was encouraged to have breakfast but Valjean declined, saying he would see some of the town and return to breakfast with his companion before they left. 

While he was trapped in conversation he asked for a pen and paper, on which he wrote a note for Javert, reassuring him that he would return before they were due to leave. He crept back into the room and left the slip of paper on his bed. 

He made sure not to wander too far but even so, it wasn't long before he happened across a shop with clothes of fine cloth in the window. He scrutinised the display for something suitable he could purchase on his return to Paris. 

There were plenty of well made scarves and shawls and skirts but he grew disheartened. Cosette surely had all the finery she needed from her husband and his family, and likely all more beautiful and fashionable than what he had in front of him. 

“Can I help you Monsieur?” 

Valjean looked to see a neat, middle-aged gentleman leaning out of the shop doorway. 

“Oh, I am just looking. Isn't it rather early for you to be open?” 

“I wouldn't turn away the opportunity for custom, Monsieur,” the man replied with a smile. “Come in, come in! You must feel the quality to make a proper decision.” 

Valjean accepted this offer and stepped inside as the shopkeep wittered away about the family business. The cravats caught his eye - a deep navy one in particular. He reached out to feel the fabric. 

“Ah, an excellent choice. Although I believe a different colour would suit you better.” 

Before more cravats could be pulled out for his choosing, Valjean shook his head. 

“It is for a friend. I think it will suit him very well indeed.” 

“And nothing for yourself, Monsieur? I think the forest green would suit you quite nicely.” 

“No, thank you.” 

As Valjean went to the counter to make his payment, something caught his eye. On the countertop was a long, shallow wooden box with a glass top, containing an assortment of brooches and pins secured to a cushion of the region’s signature fabric. 

The one which had his attention was a small ring of silver metal, not much bigger than the buttons on his coat, bordering a silver star. He purchased that too on impulse, despite the expense, but it wasn't until he left the shop that he realised Javert was unlikely to wear such a thing. 

Javert was quiet when he returned and they breakfasted in silence. Valjean thought he must still be tired and did not worry over it. Although he did not miss that Javert only seemed to look at him when Valjean looked away. 

After they had eaten, they loaded their luggage into the diligence and set off for Trouville. Once again, they would be travelling the entire day and arrive well into the evening. Thankfully it was a fine day once more and Valjean did not imagine they would be hindered by the weather. 

They sat beside one another and it wasn't long before the gentle rocking of the carriage and the sound of rolling wheels sent him to sleep. 

\-----

When he awoke, Valjean found his head resting on Javert's shoulder. The steady rise and fall of Javert's breathing indicated that he was asleep. Valjean was not surprised, his companion must have hardly slept the previous night. 

He could feel Javert's cheek pressed against his hair. Valjean was reluctant to move and disturb him, he was content to remain in position, maintaining this comfortable contact, forgoing the opportunity to see the country pass by the window. Closing his eyes and feeling Javert at rest, his breath gently moving Valjean's hair, was somehow much more special than the beauty the land had to offer. 

Javert did not wake until the afternoon, much to his embarrassment. 

“I believe this is what holidays are for: to rest and to step away from the routine of society. There are no obligations here, Javert - if you require rest, you shall sleep.” 

Javert did not look like he approved of a lack of routine, frowning and scrunching his nose slightly. Valjean fought down a smile. 

“Or you can be as regimented as you please. It is up to you.” 

This did not seem to make the idea any more favourable, for he imagined Javert was most comfortable when following instructions (so long as they were agreeable to him). The grimace remained on Javert's face. 

“Let us eat, it must be lunchtime.” 

The innkeeper in Louviers had kindly provided food for their journey: apples, bread and cheese, along with a small bottle of wine. It would be another few hours before their halfway stop to stretch their legs, and Valjean had not wished to delay their journey with an additional stop for food. As much as he enjoyed Javert’s company, sitting in the confines of a carriage with him for an extended period took some time to get used to. As far as their history was concerned, carriage rides with Javert ought to end at a prison. Valjean knew that would not be the case, but such experiences were not easily shaken. 

Valjean thought of the gifts he had purchased, tucked safely in the inside of his coat. He could not bring himself to give them to Javert. Not yet. Perhaps he would offer them as a token of his gratitude when their holiday came to an end. 

Javert asked about the field they passed - what was growing there and when it would be harvested - and Valjean gladly shared his knowledge. 

The towns they passed through were walled with guarded gates. Valjean had not excepted this, and the first time they were stopped and checked before entry he nearly bolted from the carriage. His anxiety did not alleviate the more gates they had to pass, but Javert would grasp his hand when they heard the murmured voices of the guards outside, and nod once before releasing him. A reassurance: _Do not worry. You are with me._

The enclosed towns contrasted with the open, unbordered fields, dairy farms and apple orchards. The houses were not the grey and brown, stone and brick of the city but bright and white washed with thatched roofs, visible and welcoming even when the sun sank below the horizon. 

They had made a few brief stops on their journey for their comfort but when they reached Trouville, they were desperate to walk. Their hunger was more pressing though, so after they had deposited their luggage in their rooms (separate this time), they sat down to dinner. 

They ate even more rapidly that usual, ready to be on the move once more. Once they had finished, their plates were taken away and the innkeeper lent them a lamp for them to take out on their walk. As soon as they stepped out of the front door, a cat emerged from the shadows to mewl at them. Javert tutted in annoyance and shooed it away by waving the end of his cane in its direction before it could approach. 

Valjean could not see the sea but he could smell the salt on the air. They wandered the streets of illuminated houses and slumbering shops. Even in the day, Valjean imagined it would be peaceful. He decided that he liked it - quiet and quaint, separate from the rest of the world. 

They continued on until he heard the gentle hiss of the waves and felt the sea breeze in his hair. The water was a black expanse before them but the sky was alight with stars. They stood side-by-side and looked at them. It was a world away from Toulon, with its crashing waves and the groaning of man and wood. Trouville was calm where Toulon had been agony. 

He reached for Javert's arm and received no resistance. They were themselves here and they knew one another. They were equal. Valjean linked their arms and Javert looked down at him, not from a great height or from a point of superiority, only because he was tall. He looked down on Valjean in kindness. 

“Shall we head back?” Javert asked. Valjean nodded. 

When they approached the inn, the cat was there to greet them. Valjean bent to scratch it behind the ears and Javert went inside. Before Valjean could follow, Javert reappeared and tossed scraps of food onto the ground. 

“You told me before that a cat will not work if he does not hunger,” Valjean smiled. 

“Well, perhaps he needs the strength to work efficiently. And food should not be wasted. Besides, now he will leave us alone.” 

The smile did not leave Valjean's face until he went to sleep. 

\-----

Shouts filled the air. The cries of man and gull, loud enough to be heard over the swell of the waves. The cloying stench of sweat too close and pungent to inhale the fresh sea air. He was pulled along by the chain into the stumbling steps of the others, one man becoming many, the line of bodies becoming one great beast. The many-legged workhorse which never tired - _couldn't_ tire - for fear of the lash. 

Harsh sun beat down upon his back, his throat so dry he thought it must be cracked like parched ground. He focused on it. _His_ pain. He was an individual. He was Fabre… No- Fauchelevent, no- 

_Valjean!_

No, no not that, never that. He looked up as the shadow of a guard fell over him. He shuddered. Don’t look up. 

_Valjean!_

No. He cringed away from the imposing figure silhouetted against the light. 

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

It wasn't until he gasped awake that he realised the apology wasn't his own. 

“I should never have brought you here. I didn't think. I'm sorry.” 

Valjean took a shuddering breath and realised a large hand rested lightly on his heaving chest. He trembled. 

“You are safe. Valjean? I won't harm you.” 

Valjean hadn’t recognised the dark shape looming over him. He realised Javert's hair was loose, hanging over his shoulders, softening the angles of his silhouette. 

“Javert.” Valjean clasped the hand on his chest. “My friend.” 

He felt Javert pull back slightly before placing his other hand over Valjean's and leaning closer. Valjean could feel the ends of Javert's hair against his cheek. 

“... Yes.” He could not make his voice soft but he spoke quietly. “We will leave tomorrow. You were dreaming of… before?” They did not mention that point of their history often, and it was rarely named. 

“I am fine.” Even to his own ears it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. In truth, bad dreams and memories were not unusual. They always left him shaken but they passed quickly enough. 

“We are leaving,” Javert said more firmly, Valjean’s avoidance of the question answer enough. “I already tire of the cats.” 

Valjean felt a smile tug at his lips and his breath came a little easier. 

“Ah, yes. We wouldn't want to get attached.” 

“I would not. You are the one with the soft heart.” 

“Mm.” 

He felt hidden, his weaknesses kept from the world by the long, dark curtain of hair keeping their faces, and all the pains and sorrows therein, only to each other. Valjean was learning that secrets didn't feel so heavy when shared with another. Here was a man before him who knew him more completely than anyone, even if they did not understand one another at times. Javert's hand rested over his calming heart, not to crush it and smother his hopes, but to shield it from the dark fears lurking in the night. 

He squeezed Javert's fingers and drifted back down into a dreamless sleep with the passing thought that perhaps a stray had already followed him home. 

\-----

Most of the next morning was spent convincing Javert they should not leave right away. Valjean _did_ like Trouville, and it would be a shame if unwanted memories of his past prevented him from seeing the town. He had not even bathed in salt water yet, and that was the very reason Javert had taken him here. 

Valjean made inquiries over breakfast so Javert could not avoid the topic. The innkeeper, Monsieur Fournier, and his daughter were incredibly helpful and accomodating. 

“You've come to the right place. The waters here have great healing properties.” 

“Very beneficial for the elderly,” his daughter supplied as she refilled their glasses, earning herself a gentle elbow in the ribs from her father. “Forgive me Monsieur! I did not mean-” 

Valjean chuckled. “It is quite alright. I am old indeed.” 

“Besides that there are reports of it clearing the airways of the asthmatic, healing the minds of the bereaved and soul-sick, and even a cure for rabies,” the innkeeper said with raised brows. “I cannot vouch for these claims, but it is certainly rejuvenating.” 

“Is there somewhere private to bathe?” Javert asked, including himself in their conversation for the first time. “My friend, he has… old wounds he is self-conscious of.” 

“Ah, an old soldier hm?” Fournier incorrectly surmised. He held up a hand. “I understand, Monsieur. Sometimes things are best left in the past, you don't wish to be questioned what your allegiances were. The low tide will be at five in the evenin’. If you follow the shoreline as it curves off to the left, pools will have formed between the rocks. Some will certainly be deep enough to bathe in and at that time of day everyone's makin’ their way home.” 

Javert inclined his head to Monsieur Fournier. “Thank you.” 

Valjean felt elated that Javert had thought to ask such a thing on his behalf. 

“Thank _you_ ,” he murmured to his companion when their host had departed. 

“It is only practical. We came here to make use of the water, it would be foolish if you did not bathe in it.” 

\-----

Javert was particularly irritable when they made their way to the sea. He did not speak, and if Valjean attempted to encourage conversation, Javert would only snap monosyllabic answers. 

As they turned down the street, a small black cat meowed to them from its position on the wall. 

“See?” Valjean said. “He is grateful.” 

“He is greedy,” Javert muttered but he did not shoo the cat away as he had done initially. 

When they reached the beach, Valjean saw the outcropping of rock further down the shoreline, just as they had been told. As he approached, Valjean noticed that the curve of it had trapped water within its horseshoe shape as the tide receded. They would not have been able to access it at high tide, and the rocks that were now exposed formed a wall around the edges of the pool - perfect for discreet bathing. 

Still, Valjean hesitated when the had reached it and Javert seemed to as well. 

“I will keep watch,” Javert said as he clambered up the rock to sit above the pool and sat with his back to Valjean. 

Valjean stared at the water for some minutes before inhaling a deep breath of salt air and then undressing. His shirt was the last thing he removed, and once he had done so he immediately submerged himself in the water to hide his back. 

The cold made him gasp and he remained still to acclimatise to the temperature. He realised he had not been in water in such a way since he leapt off the Orion, where Prisoner 9430 had died and Madeleine was baptised. Here, it was Valjean who was born to the world once again. Monsieur Jean Valjean. 

He exhaled, relaxing as best as he was able, and submerged himself completely. He came back up after a few seconds and pushed the hair back from his forehead, scrubbing his face with his hands. Valjean let the gentle movement of the water rock his body, and listened to the soft lapping of the waves against the rock. If he closed his eyes, he was weightless in a great expanse of nothing. Perhaps that's what Heaven was like, peaceful contentment in nothingness. Valjean could not quite achieve full contentment being so exposed, but he was reassured by Javert’s presence. 

He remained until the chill became too uncomfortable. 

“Um. Javert?” 

Javert's head started to turn in Valjean's direction, before snapping away again. “Yes.” 

“You have the towel.” 

“Right.” Javert looked down at it folded beside him but did not move. 

“Ja-” 

Javert turned to him completely, mouth pulled into a grimace as he placed the towel within Valjean's reach, before climbing over the rocks back the way they came. That made Valjean anxious. Surely being completely alone was preferable but he constantly had to look all around him as he dried off, fearful someone would appear and see what he had kept carefully hidden for so long. He could trust Javert to keep watch and keep his best interests at heart, but he had left. Why had he left so suddenly? Valjean wasn’t sure if he should rush after him, perhaps he did not want to be followed. 

When Valjean had dressed and climbed down, Javert was there. 

“Forgive me, I did not realise you were waiting,” Valjean said with some relief. 

“And why wouldn't I?” Javert said, irritated, as he stated to walk, holding himself tightly. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I am fine. I just need to lie down when we return, that’s all.” 

Javert was walking quickly and Valjean had to jog between every few steps to keep up with his long strides. Something must have been wrong for Javert to admit he needed to retire to his room. Perhaps it had been too cold, sitting still on the rocks in the sea air. 

When they approached the inn, the cat was ignored and Javert went directly to his room. Valjean tried to reassure himself. Javert's mood was likely only a result a chill. His snarl had not been for his distaste of Valjean's body… had it? Even if it was, that would be expected. Valjean found it distasteful himself. 

Valjean warmed himself in the dining room and Fournier asked him whether the sea had worked its magic. Valjean assured him that he believed it had, and thanked him for all of his assistance. That did not get the man to move on to his other patrons though, and engaged in idle conversation with Valjean. Valjean feared he was no good at idle conversation, and resorted to nodding and making encouraging noises. He wondered why these people were so friendly with him, and then felt saddened that it was only because they believed him to be something he was not, that he was too good at living a lie. These people could never truly be his friends. 

Thankfully, Mademoiselle Fournier came to his rescue, and chided her father for making Valjean to wait for his dinner. Valjean nearly protested that he would wait for Javert but then Javert sat opposite him at the table. Javert sat in silence, in the manner of a whipped dog. His irritability had departed but he remained uncomfortable. Valjean did not attempt conversation, and drank the wine than had been placed before him. 

By the time their food had arrived, the people around them had drunk enough alcohol to make them rowdy. From what Valjean had heard, the men were celebrating the birth of a son. Despite them being in good cheer, the noise and the unpredictable nature of a drunk made Valjean nervous. 

One of them bumped into their table, setting Valjean's glass off balance. Valjean reached out, the sure, sudden movements of the convict in him, to catch it before it fell. His shirt sleeve had drawn back with the motion, exposing the thick scars around his wrist. He hurried to tug the cuff back down but immediately looked at Javert. He had seen. It should not matter, but Valjean recalled Javert’s expression when he had seen him bathing. 

“Let us retire to our rooms,” Javert said once they had finished eating. Valjean nodded and followed him in silence, hunching up on himself to try and make his body smaller and not bump into anyone. 

To Valjean's surprise, Javert entered Valjean's room. He closed the door behind Valjean and took hold of his wrist. Valjean shuddered. Javert pulled up the sleeve to expose the scar and raised the arm to inspect it. Valjean went limp beneath him like a hunted beast who knows he is captured, yet there was a coiled tension in his muscles, a deep-set uncertainty and fear. 

“You do not have to hide from me,” Javert murmured, face still turned down. 

Javert pressed his lips to the skin, thickened yet smooth from the damage and repair, voicing an acceptance words could not. 

Valjean's hand had found Javert's shoulder and clung to it, almost as if he needed to support himself. He felt tears sting his eyes. Javert saw Valjean for who he was and would never run from him. Javert looked up and quickly took a step back. 

“Forgive me. I did not mean to overstep I was only-” 

“Thank you.” Valjean reached his arm towards Javert again. He had a sudden desire to embrace him, to feel Javert’s stability when he himself felt off balance. He acted on it, wrapping his arms around Javert's waist, resting his head against his shoulder. “I am blessed to have a friend such as you.” 

Javert was tense, but Valjean imagined embraces were unfamiliar for him too. Javert placed a hand on Valjean's back, over hidden scars, and Valjean felt truly accepted. He should not doubt Javert's devotion to him. 

“We should stay somewhere else tomorrow evening. Somewhere that you will be able to rest without being reminded of things you would rather forget,” Javert said, and Valjean could feel the vibration of his voice. “I will make enquiries in the morning... Will you be alright tonight?” 

“Yes.” Valjean stepped back. “How did you know last night? Did I… cry out in my sleep loud enough for you to hear?” Valjean asked, feeling embarrassed someone else might have heard. 

“My bed is against the same wall as yours. I heard you knocking against it. Perhaps the properties of the sea water will help you sleep easier.” 

“Hm. It was certainly refreshing.” 

Javert's eye caught something in the room behind Valjean. “Ah,” he said, lips quirking upwards, “that is why your trunk is heavier than I expected.” 

Valjean tuned to see his bible resting on the table between the two candlesticks. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I could not part with them.” 

Javert nodded but did not move. It was too early for them to sleep and Javert appeared to be waiting for something. Valjean gestured to the Bible. “Should I… ?” 

“If you wish.” 

“Sit then,” Valjean said as he picked up the book. They sat side by side on the edge of the bed, shoulders touching, and Valjean began to read. 

\-----

When Valjean had started yawning, Javert retired to his own room and Valjean was left alone. As he laid in bed he pressed his hand against the wall. It was reassuring to know Javert slept by his side but Valjean still felt restless, his mind would not settle. 

He rubbed his wrist, the one Javert had kissed. Such ugliness met with such tenderness. He pondered on the act and was reminded of Cosette - the poor, stricken child she was when he had found her and the emotion that filled him when he watched her sleep. His compulsion to kiss her small, roughened hand. 

Did Javert experience such emotions? Was he overcome in a similar way? Valjean felt a fondness rise in his breast. He could picture the furrow of that severe brow, Javert's lips pressed thin with worry over Valjean's health. His blunt persistence and harsh, demanding tone devoted to softer matters - that Valjean must eat, that he must stay warm, he must sleep. 

He murmured a small prayer to thank God for this good friend, for allowing them to know each other as they did now, but found he could not rest. He thought of Javert's long body across the end of his bed that morning, like a dog that would guard him from intruders, Javert guarded him from his dreams. 

He pulled on his trousers, stepped into his shoes and found himself silently opening the door to Javert's room. He only wanted to see him, to check on him, for a reason Valjean could not explain. He stepped inside and closed the door. 

“Who's there?” Javert growled in the dark. 

“Forgive me, I did not mean to wake you. I couldn't sleep.” 

That didn't adequately explain why Valjean was in the room but Javert did not question it. Valjean saw him sit up. 

“Come closer then. I cannot see a thing.” 

Valjean did so, standing by his bedside. Javert squinted up at him. 

“I will never sleep if you loom over me like that. Sit in that chair. You may stay if you wish.” 

Before Valjean could respond, Javert rolled over to face the wall. 

“Thank you.” 

Javert grunted and Valjean settled into the chair, closing his eyes, thinking of Javert and stars, long, soft hair and warm embraces. 


	10. Chapter 10

Javert was awoken by the morning sunshine and the murmurs of the inn preparing breakfast. He regarded Valjean asleep in the chair at his bedside, the sun lighting his hair as if it glowed from within. Javert sighed. Thankfully, his body had not roused in his sleep and he was content to lie abed and watch Valjean at peace. 

Their trip so far had certainly been a test of his sanity, with Valjean both infuriating and endearing and Javert’s own body betraying him. His first trial had been at their very first stop, when Valjean insisted they share the bed. Javert could not refuse for fear of raising suspicion, so he had laid there, as far from Valjean as possible and did not sleep. Javert had not thought of Valjean _like that_ since they had been reunited. He had been too concerned over the state of Valjean's health - it would not do to think of his own needs and fantasise about a man so frail. 

Being forced to share a bed that night reawakened his desire. Thinking about Valjean's body so close to his own, wondering how it would feel pressed against his back. As soon as Valjean's breathing deepened in sleep, Javert had left, seeking to cool his blood in the night air. 

It had been a relief that Valjean had wanted to go out before Javert woke up the following morning. Javert had the opportunity to take himself in hand, the thought of Valjean returning before he had finished both horrifying and arousing. He had spent into his handkerchief, which he disposed of at the first opportunity. 

That had sated him for a while, until he had accompanied Valjean to the rocks. The temptation to see Valjean's body while he bathed was almost too great but Javert resisted. He had to look when Valjean had called him, but the only part of Valjean that was above the surface of the water were his head and shoulders, but that had been enough. Those strong, broad shoulders wet and glistening in the rich light of the lowering sun. Javert had hurried back to his rooms, more flustered than he had ever been in his life. 

No matter how he tried, this was not something he could be cured from. 

Presently, Javert remained in bed, watching Valjean rest. He observed him waking slowly and naturally. 

Valjean blinked into full consciousness before startling and grasping at his collar to fasten it around his neck to hide the marks there. He paused almost immediately, looking at Javert and seeming to recall their conversation the previous night. Javert nodded to him. 

“Good morning, Valjean.”

Valjean released his shirt, held his hands together instead and looked down at them. 

“Good morning,” Valjean replied, meeting his gaze again. There were tears in his eyes. 

“Valjean-”

Valjean clasped Javert's hand. 

“Thank you. Thank you, Javert. My good friend.” Javert froze in horror and delight as Valjean kissed his hand. “I am so used to hiding I'm not sure I know another way to live…” 

“Nonsense,” Javert breathed. “You will learn.”

“You would help me?” Valjean whispered, raising his eyes to meet Javert's once more. 

“Of course. As best I can,” Javert responded gruffly, looking to the window. 

“Sometimes… I do not think I even know myself; I have been hiding so long.”

“I know you,” Javert said with conviction. “And I will help you see yourself for who you are.”

Wetness touched the back of Javert's hand. He looked down to find Valjean weeping. Unsure of what to do, he rested a hand on a broad, shuddering shoulder. At that contact Valjean suddenly thrust himself forward, his face against Javert's neck as he clung to his nightshirt. Javert tensed in shock before putting an arm around him and awkwardly petting his pale hair. 

“Jean Valjean,” he stuttered against Javert's chest. 

“Yes. Jean Valjean. You always have been to me.”

\-----

On Monsieur Fournier’s advice, they were agreed they should move on to Rouen. It would be a day’s journey, so if they left the next morning they would arrive in time for dinner. It was more densely populated than Trouville but was still in the countryside. Javert thought Valjean might find comfort in some bustle, it would make him feel less conspicuous, but it shouldn't be too busy to overwhelm him. 

Before that, they would take in Trouville - visiting the shops and returning to the sea one last time for Valjean to bathe. Javert tried not to think about that. He focused on Valjean's high spirits instead, his cautious happiness and shy smiles, the way he often looked over his shoulder to check Javert was still near him - not out of the fear of being pursued, but because he desired his company. 

Javert realised that the sun had brought out a dusting of freckles across Valjean's cheeks, that for some reason he was fixated by. He had never noticed that Valjean had them. It was as if his companion was blossoming into his true self before Javert's eyes. 

Valjean had identified Javert’s taste for prawns, Trouville favoured them and Javert had never eaten them before. At first, he had grimaced at the small pink creatures with their beady dead eyes looking back at him but they _did_ taste exquisite. Of course he had not told Valjean this, but he seemed to know Javert thought so anyway as he ordered them again with a smile when they stopped for lunch.

They were served with Norman cream, which seemed rather indulgent, but Valjean appeared to have a taste for it and Javert wouldn’t deny him. Javert assumed Valjean had paid in advance _again_ , as was his habit to stop them arguing over the bill. Valjean had paid for almost everything: the inn at Louviers, the food, whatever trinkets he insisted on buying. Javert did not like it, it made him feel inadequate, but it was true that he might be struggling financially if he had paid for it all instead. Javert reasoned that if Valjean was paying, they would have better quality meals and beds and he would much rather Valjean enjoyed himself and lived in a comfort Javert wouldn’t have been able to afford.

Then came the moment Javert had been dreading. Valjean looked at his watch, tapped it twice and said: “the tide is right.”

Javert followed him to the shore in silence and grew uncomfortable when they began walking on sand, seeing Valjean before him in rags with is head bent and Javert holding the chain. He shook his head and walked by Valjean’s side instead. This sea air was no good.

“Will you bathe also?” Valjean asked and Javert nearly choked on the air he inhaled. 

He didn't want to imagine it. Sharing the water with Valjean, both of them naked and wet and so very close-

“It might help your joints.”

“I dislike the cold,” Javert managed to say, his voice somewhat strained. 

“It is not so bad.”

“I must keep watch.”

“Well, if you used this one and I used the next pool along, you would still catch sight of a passerby before I would.”

Javert was horrified at the idea of exposing himself in his suddenly changing condition but perhaps it would be easier to suffer that shame with no witnesses and have the cold water chase away his desire, rather than sit, consumed by sinful thoughts and have to somehow stumble his way back to the inn. 

“Very well. I will keep watch while you get in the water and then I will do so myself.”

“You will be glad of it, I'm sure.” Javert could hear the smile in Valjean's voice but could not bear to look at him. 

He stood vigilant, looking back the way they had come as Valjean moved further away. For once Javert was grateful for Valjean's desire to hide himself, he would stay out of view and not think to look at Javert or converse with him while they bathed. 

Javert did not wait for Valjean to speak, as soon as he heard his companion enter the water, he moved down to his own pool. He considered it. If he pressed his back against the rock, he could keep his sights to his right which was the only place he would be visible from. 

He steeled himself and then undressed as quickly as he could and hid his treacherous body beneath the surface of the water. The water was cool but it did nothing to calm him. There was only one option left. His face burned with shame. He needed to free himself of this sickening lust as fast as possible. 

He kept his eyes fixed on the beach as he wrapped a hand around his cock. He shuddered, more from disgust at himself than pleasure. He strained his ears for any sound of movement from Valjean, but there was only the gentle hiss of the waves and occasional quiet splash of Valjean washing. 

Javert was reminded of Valjean's broad, muscular shoulders glistening in the last of the evening sun. He bit the inside of his cheek and began to stroke himself. 

He had never done this in water. He had never done this outside. He should never have done this. What a terrible idea. Deviant. What had he become? He could imagine the absolute disgust his past self would harbour for him now. The innocent shock of Valjean if he noticed. Good god! The man was not more than a few paces away! And here Javert was submerged in his sins, depraved - disgusting!

He couldn't think like that. He needed to solve his problem immediately. His free hand found his cravat and he bit down on it to silence any sound he might make. He thought of Valjean watching in horror and curiosity and how Javert would beckon him closer. He would touch Valjean's cock just like this and show him a mere fraction of how Javert had suffered. 

As soon as Javert found his release, he threw the cravat back on the rock and and furiously scrubbed himself. He submerged himself completely until he came up gasping for air, thinking of the fate he had avoided at the Seine. He would have never imagined his life after that moment would have turned out like this. 

Despite what he had just done, it had resulted in a relaxation of his muscles and so he settled to do what Valjean had instructed - to bathe and ease his joints. He tried not to think of the water lapping at his skin as sensual, or the gentle rocking of the waves. He thought of moving onto Rouen and leaving this blasted sea behind, of all the things they would occupy their days with there, all the things that would distract his mind. 

“Javert?” 

“Yes?” Javert did not startle or feel embarrassed, that moment had passed and now he was relaxed.

Valjean peeked out from behind the rocks. “I will leave the towel here for you but you do not have to rush.”

Javert did not imagine that Valjean would appraise his body in the same way that Javert did to him, for his body was ugly and awkward in its length. As a result he did not feel self-conscious under Valjean’s gaze.

“It is alright. I am ready to leave.”

Valjean nodded and left him so Javert could dry off and redress in privacy.

“How are your joints?” Valjean asked when Javert joined him on the beach.

Javert shrugged. “They don’t feel much different to me.”

“I’m sure you will notice the difference when you return to Paris,” Valjean smiled.

\-----

They had made arrangements to travel to Rouen in the morning and packed their luggage upon their return to the inn, so they could leave as soon as they had breakfasted the following morning. They would have the company of other passengers on this journey and Javert knew that might make Valjean uncomfortable but he seemed in high spirits when they were preparing to leave.

“It is a shame to leave Trouville, it is a lovely place, but I am also looking forward to discovering somewhere new once again,” Valjean offered as explanation.

Thankfully their only companions on the journey were a young couple going to visit their parents. Javert knew they would make Valjean think of his daughter and her fool husband. They kept to themselves once Valjean had finished his polite conversation, possibly due to Javert’s glare. 

It was a relief to arrive at Rouen, Javert felt like he could talk freely to Valjean after a whole day of near silence. All the things he talked of were things he could have spoken about on the journey but he had not felt comfortable enough to do so. He asked Valjean’s opinion of the place, the countryside and the orchards.

“I am looking forward to seeing it all in daylight. I am sure it will be even more beautiful.”

They had stopped at a small inn on the outskirts of the city. The food was good and the people were polite but too busy to corner them in conversation. Javert could see that Valjean was relieved by this and knew he had made the right decision in moving them here.

As he retired to his room, Javert's emotions were conflicted. He had not spoken to Valjean much that morning due to the shame of what Javert had done in the sea. When he had returned to his senses being in Valjean's company again, he deeply regretted the act. He had only been reminded of Toulon moments before and yet he had still been lustful. It felt even more disrespectful to Valjean than usual. 

At least that was behind them now - Javert's indecency and memories of Toulon. They would explore Rouen together and Valjean would be at peace. 

\-----

The next morning, Javert opened his door to find Valjean.

“How long have you been lingering there?” Javert asked. He ought to have said _Good morning_ or _Did you rest well?_

“Not long,” Valjean said, slightly abashed. “I was just deciding whether I should knock.”

“And why shouldn’t you?”

“Because I wouldn’t want to wake you.”

“I would not wish to sleep the day away. Now come, let us eat and see what this city has to offer.”

Valjean smiled at him and they went downstairs and sat at a table. Once their food had been brought to them, Javert asked the question a friend would ask. 

“Did you rest well?”

“Oh yes, no dreams, if that is what you mean.”

“But you did not rest well?” Javert frowned at Valjean's roundabout reply. 

“I am a light sleeper, and when I awake in an unfamiliar place, my first thought is that I must be on the run. It is just the way of things.”

“It should not be.”

“It cannot be helped,” Valjean said softly but it only served to rankle Javert. 

Why could it not be helped? Why must Valjean continue to suffer, despite Javert's efforts to make amends? It frustrated Javert that there was no solution, no cure for what ailed Valjean. 

They got through their meal without polite conversation from their hosts again, for which Javert was relieved. He was restless, desiring to be outside, to be distracted from his thoughts and to have the sunshine chase away Valjean's fears. 

When they finally left the inn, Valjean breathed deeply, inhaling the fresh air and feeling the warm sun on his face. He directed a small smile up at Javert and rested his hand in the crook of Javert's elbow. Javert matched his cadence as they headed into the city. 

“It would seem Monsieur Fournier made a good recommendation,” Javert observed as he surveyed the charming buildings and surrounding countryside. 

“Indeed! He was a fine fellow.”

Valjean had told him of his interest in the factories at Louviers, which they would make more time for on their return journey, but it appeared Rouen had its own specialty: faience. According to Valjean's enquiries into the ceramic wares, Rouen had produced the first soft porcelain in France. Those factories had long closed down, due to Rouen only having a small-scale production, but many instances of late-17th century porcelain could still be seen in the city. 

Production had moved onto faience - a tin-glazed earthenware pottery. That too had fallen out of fashion commercially, but it was still produced with pride, mainly for tourists, to showcase the local history and skill. They had been told a number of times of how Rouen’s technique had been imitated all over France in its heyday. Valjean had been encouraged to visit the market if he had an interest in purchasing some of Rouen’s ceramics. 

As pleasant as it was to see Valjean overcome his hesitance at social interaction with his interest, it was bittersweet to Javert. It was plain Valjean was in his element discussing manufacturing methods and the pitfalls of such a business. He had been a fine businessman in Monteuil, developing a skill and new method of manufacture with nothing but his ingenuity. 

Javert was reminded that not only was Valjean a good, kind and devout man, but he had a sharp intellect and good sense for business too. That was a career Javert had denied him, that Valjean would never take to again. What a fool he had been to ruin such progress - the personal progress of a single, remarkable man, that had led to the fulfilment of an entire town. 

Javert's mood had darkened when Valjean finally vacated the shop. He chatted inanely about the other recommendations the shop keeper had given him: the castle, the gardens, the church…

“Look! Look! Javert! There it is!” Valjean tugged on his sleeve and pointed ahead of them at a great clock. 

“What is it?” Javert frowned. 

“It is an astronomical clock! The Gros-Horloge.” Valjean wove through the other pedestrians to get a closer look and Javert was careful not to lose him as he followed. 

On closer inspection, Javert saw that it was truly a functional work of art. A great golden sun with 24 rays on a starry blue background. He studied it, attempting to read it. One of the hands was tipped with a golden sheep, and Javert was not sure what the image at the bottom of the clock represented. 

“Do you like it?” Valjean asked, as if he had made it himself and would be hurt by Javert's disapproval. 

“It is magnificent. Do you know how to read it? What does the sheep represent?”

“I'm afraid I do not know. We should ask the innkeep over dinner. All I was told was that it was built in the 14th century.”

“The 14th century!”

Valjean smiled. He waited patiently for Javert to finish looking at all of the details and telling Valjean what he thought, and then they continued on. 

Valjean was thoughtful, no one considered Javert's interests like he did. Javert had greatly enjoyed the time they had been able to share together, regardless of the embarrassing consequences of his own body. But with two days of travel each way, the day that was spent travelling to Rouen, and two days spent in Trouville meant they only had two days left before they had to begin their journey back to Paris.

Valjean brought them pastries and they sat on a quiet bench, Javert recalling how Valjean had done the same when they visited the Luxembourg together. It was probably a usual routine for him and Cosette, but Javert treasured it - although he did still complain about the unnecessary expense to keep up appearances. 

Time was running out. Soon everything would go back to how it was. There was a small window of opportunity. Opportunity for what? To humiliate himself? Have Valjean look upon him with pity and disgust?

Valjean sighed. “Perhaps we should return to Paris tomorrow.”

“Why?” Javert said, horrified that Valjean would reduce their time together even further.

“You are not enjoying yourself here, I can see it. You are restless. I am grateful you have brought me here but I would not have you be unhappy.”

“You have it all wrong,” Javert snapped. “I am irritable because I do not wish to leave and the days are passing too quickly.” 

_I do not want to spend all of my time working. I do not want to share your company with others. I want-_

A smile spread across Valjean’s face and he laughed. 

“Oh, Javert. I am glad. But you must enjoy our final days here, you cannot do that if you are sullen.”

Valjean covered Javert's hand with his own. Javert looked at him, feeling his face grow hot. He was running out of time. He looked over his shoulder. They were alone.

“You wanted to know why I left you last year?”

Valjean blinked at him in surprise. “Yes.”

“I had grown to-” Javert could not stand to look Valjean in the eye as he confessed. “I had begun to think of you inappropriately.”

Valjean's hand did not leave his, but when Javert looked at his face, his brows were drawn in confusion. Javert growled in irritation and, in a desperate act to put them both out of their misery, he put a hand at the back of Valjean’s head and pulled him forward into a kiss. 

It was only a brief press of their lips, that was over as soon as it had begun. 

“There. _Now_ you understand?” Javert snapped to disguise his own feeling of vulnerability, quickly looking around again to make sure no one had witnessed his foolishness.

“Oh,” was all Valjean said.

With nothing more forthcoming, Javert stood and turned away. He smoothed out his coat and neatened his already perfect cravat. 

“Let us go then, before the day is over, if you still wish to have my company.”

“Of course!”

\-----

They passed the rest of the day as they had intended but Javert found it infuriating. He wanted Valjean to be disgusted, to turn him away, to tell him to return to Paris, anything was better than this absurd pretense of normality. Javert wondered if, even after Javert had _kissed_ him, Valjean still did not understand. 

They visited the market but Javert wasn't taking any of it in, Valjean pointed things out to him and Javert would nod and grunt as if he understood what he was saying. Twice Valjean wandered off, and Javert lost him between the stalls. He thought it was an intentional escape but Valjean always returned to his side and touched his arm. 

“Let us return to the inn,” Valjean said. 

They could hardly have been at the market for more than an hour, but Javert followed him back. He acknowledged he was terrible company for Valjean, and should not be so bitter after Valjean had the kindness to pretend Javert had not shamed himself and ruined this time for them. 

When they returned, Javert headed directly to his room, a toxic feeling churning inside him - black and bitter and full of self hatred, similar to how he had felt in those weeks after the barricade. If he laid down he wasn't sure he would get up again, not for lack of physical strength but emotional exhaustion and turmoil. 

He nearly slammed the door to his room in Valjean's face.

“Why are you here?” Javert snapped. 

“I am concerned. Javert, I am sorry if I upset you-”

“Tch! I am not upset. I am not some child.”

“Javert, please may I come in? I cannot discuss this in the hall.” Valjean looked around him, a slight blush to his cheeks. Yes. They could not discuss something so shameful and embarrassing where others could overhear. For Valjean's sake. 

Javert stepped back and Valjean closed the door behind him. 

“Now, Javert,” Valjean shifted awkwardly, not looking at him, “please listen to me. You are my good friend and I enjoy your company-”

“Yes, yes. Do not concern yourself. You will have my friendly companionship. We will not speak of this again.”

“Javert. Let me finish. I-” Valjean chewed his lip. “I was going to say that… I would have your company every moment of everyday if I could. Just how we have been spending our time these last few days and- and I-” Another pause. “I realise now that this is perhaps not- that it is something more than friendship. But I would not know as I've not had such a friend before and I've never had… I've never…” Valjean made a feeble gesture with his hand which demonstrated nothing. 

“And I'm sorry Javert. I do not know what to do in these situations. I do not know how I ought to behave or what is proper. But I…” Valjean swallowed and by now his entire face was a deep shade of pink. Javert felt as if his brain was two steps behind, he almost could not comprehend what Valjean was saying. 

“I have been thinking about… about how you… this morning when you… I have been thinking of it all day. And- and if you would like to you may try again. I would like you to. If you wanted.”

There was a beat and Javert realised Valjean was awaiting a response. 

“Wanted?” He echoed stupidly. “You have been thinking of… this morning when I… kissed you?”

Valjean nodded. 

“And you would want me to do it again?”

Another nod. This could not be real. 

“Now?”

Valjean's eyes flicked up to meet his own. “Yes. If that- if that is alright.”

Javert unconsciously wetted his lips and made a few aborted attempts of leaning closer. His mouth was too dry. He did not know how to kiss. Of all the things he had dreamt about, he had not considered kissing. 

He put his hands on Valjean's firm shoulders and leaned down. Valjean had closed his eyes and his head was angled upwards. The sight made Javert lightheaded. He took a moment in an attempt to steel himself and then closed the distance. 

Their lips met. Valjean's were soft and the hairs of his moustache tickled the skin above Javert's mouth. Not sure of what else should be done, Javert pulled away slowly. 

“Like that?”

Valjean's eyes fluttered open. “Yes. That was… That was very nice.”

In his elation at this new turn of events and Valjean’s praise, Javert could not help pressing their lips together again. He knew his technique was probably mediocre at best but he desired to kiss Valjean endlessly now that he had been granted permission, while he had the chance, in case Valjean changed his mind. 

Valjean made a small noise of surprise but did not push him away. His hand settled on Javert's hip and Javert refrained from further kisses. 

“Do you think I have any more of an idea about how to go about this than you do?” Javert murmured. “If I did, I imagine I could have solved my predicament much quicker.”

“Your predicament? Oh. You said… Last year? You have… you have felt this way for all these months?”

Javert grimaced. “Yes.”

They were still standing very close, unsure of what to do, but Valjean leaned forward to place a shy kiss on Javert's jaw. 

“I did not know…” Valjean said apologetically. 

Javert scoffed. “That much was obvious. But… this is something you want? From me, of all people? This is not an act of pity or-”

“No.” Valjean shook his head. “I have not thought of… _this_ with anyone else. And-” he removed his hands from Javert and took a step back. “And I would not want to. You know me like no one else does.”

He looked Javert in the eye with a definance that made Javert's heart beat faster. Before Javert's hunger got the better of him again, Valjean made a fuss of looking in the pockets of his coat.

“I had actually come to… give you something. I did not expect- uh, any of this. Although it is - it was - a pleasant surprise,” Valjean rambled. 

He finally produced a neatly folded bundle of navy fabric, offering it to Javert. Javert accepted the gift to find that it was heavier than he expected. The soft, luxury cotton was wrapped around something. Javert unfolded it as carefully as he could, his hands feeling much too rough and large. 

“It is a cravat,” Valjean blurted. “I thought I ought to thank you, for taking me here and all you've done for me, and, well, it looked smart. It reminded me of you.”

“Thank you,” Javert murmured. No one had ever presented him with such a gift before - any gift in fact. 

He had only moved one fold, not yet revealing anything underneath. Something gave him pause. He needed to process this gesture, this first item. Not only was the fabric finer the any clothing Javert owned, it was still a humble cotton that did not look extravagant. It _was_ well suited to him, with a colour that reminded him of the night sky and bestowed with the sentiment that Valjean had looked upon this object, with these elements, and been reminded of Javert. Javert did not know what to do with such a gesture. 

“But there is something else…?”

They looked at each other, sharing a strange, nervous anticipation. Valjean nodded. 

Javert prised more of the fabric away, revealing a small, rectangular snuff box. He had not ever taken snuff in front of Valjean, and Javert wondered how he had known of this habit. He must have seen his snuff box when Javert had been in his care. 

This box was simple yet beautiful, made of the white faience Rouen was famous for. A small, intricate painting of a sunny orchard decorated the lid. 

“Open it.”

Javert frowned at Valjean. Surely there could not be _another_ gift. He opened the lid to reveal a small silver star boarded by a ring. 

“It is a pin. For your cravat.”

“This is excessive.” Javert could not look at him. He could not understand these gifts. He felt inadequate. 

“I know,” Valjean mumbled, shifting awkwardly. “But I hope you understand that I purchased all of these gifts before you… before I knew how you felt. I value you, Javert. Truly, I do.”

Javert snapped the box closed. 

“I will wear it.”

Valjean's face brightened. The cravat might look peculiar with his mismatch of clothing, but it would look very fine with his work garb when he returned to Paris. It would be worthwhile to wear it now and keep that smile on Valjean's face. 

Javert handed the bundle of gifts to Valjean as he untied his cravat, noticing how old and worn it was. Valjean removed the pin from the snuff box and handed it back to Javert, who slipped it carefully into the inside pocket of his coat after one last appraising look at the orchard on the front. Then Valjean rose on his toes to put the new cravat around Javert's neck. 

Javert went very still, watching Valjean's face drawn in concentration as he tied the fabric, the tip of his tongue poking out from the edge of his lips. 

_They had kissed._ Javert had kissed him _three_ times. Valjean desired it. Valjean desired _him_. Valjean would not realise the extent of the desires Javert held for him. Javert did not mind. He could ask for no more than this. Valjean had blushed very prettily the last time their lips had met…

“There.” Valjean stood back, hands on his hips. “It looks very fine indeed.” The skin beneath his freckles turned pink. “You- you look very fine.”

Javert descended on him, pressing his lips to Valjean's warm cheek. 

“I do not know what is proper either,” Javert murmured. “You must tell me if I am being… distasteful.”

Valjean shook his head. “It is… pleasing. I do not mind. That is to say I do not object- I would not object- I would like you to.”

“You do not think… that it is damning you?”

“God would not punish an act of love.”

_Love._

Javert had to sit on the edge of the bed. Valjean spoke with such confidence, and Javert always deferred to his knowledge of God, so he could not argue. They shared a love for one another. Javert could hardly get his head around that, but that God would allow them this? All Javert had desired and how he had caused them both sorrow over it in the months past - it was _allowed_? He was to have this? This affection from the greatest man he had ever known, who he had wronged and caused so much strife and sorrow?

Valjean sat beside him, so close that their shoulders touched, just as he had done many times before. It was different now. 

“Javert?”

“I do not deserve it. Any of it.”

Valjean squeezed his hand. “I could not believe it was possible for someone to feel so strongly for me. You have given me a companionship I have never known before. You have given me a new life that I could have never imagined. A life of acceptance, of happiness when I had been ready to die. I never thought I could be so happy, and that I could find happiness as Jean Valjean.” Javert looked at him, and found Valjean's eyes shining with tears. “I would give you everything.”

Javert kissed him again, he did not know what else to do. He had never thought about how Valjean's beard would feel against his skin, or how Valjean might reciprocate. His hesitant fingers of one hand stroking through Javert's whiskers. 

Valjean rested his head on Javert's shoulder when they parted and Javert cautiously put an arm around him. 

“You will enjoy the rest of our holiday now? You will not be so afraid for it to end? Because this- _we_ will be no different. From how we are now.” Valjean said with a shy hesitance. 

This confirmation of the continuing development of… whatever it was they were doing, when they returned to Paris, was both joyous and unfathomable. Javert focused on the question at hand.

“I am sorry. For acting so petulantly. But we _are_ running out of time here and I hope I can make it up to you. What would you like to see today?”

“We should spend the day at the gardens tomorrow. What do you think?”

“Yes, that is a good plan.” Once again Javert remembered the time he had spent with Valjean at the Luxembourg with fondness. “But I asked you about the rest of today, not tomorrow.”

“Perhaps we could visit the Church of St. Maclou? It is perhaps rather extravagant for me to be comfortable to pray in but I imagine it is very beautiful - inside and out.” Valjean lifted his head from Javert’s shoulder. “What would you like to do?”

“Perhaps we could take a closer look at the castle, but perhaps that is something for us to do on our final day.”

“Well then,” Valjean said as he stood and offered his hand. “We best get going before the day is through.”

\-----

Javert awoke the next morning to a knock at the door. He grunted, rolling over and realising he had something clutched in his hand. A snuff box. Valjean’s gift to him. He ran his thumb across the apple trees, recalling the previous day. They spent the rest of the afternoon companionably, and although there had been no further kisses, it was still somehow warm and intimate. Valjean stood closer to him than before, rested his hand on Javert’s arm more often-

“Javert?” 

The door creaked open and Javert sat up, stuffing the box under his pillow. He had forgotten someone was at the door.

“Are you feeling alright?” Valjean asked, closing the door behind him.

“Yes,” Javert replied gruffly.

“You can stay in bed awhile. I said holidays were for resting.” Valjean looked at him, somehow shy, a faint blush to his cheeks.

“I did not dream it?” Javert said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

“Dream what?”

“That I- That you-”

Valjean approached and rested a hand carefully on Javert’s shoulder. Javert covered it with his own and looked up at Valjean for an answer. Valjean shook his head.

“You did not dream it.”

Javert removed the hand from his shoulder with shaking fingers, and placed a grateful kiss to his knuckles. He felt Valjean flinch and curl his fingers tighter around Javert’s. His other hand rested awkwardly on top of Javert’s head and after a moment, it slid downward, stroking Javert’s hair. Javert shuddered. He had dreamt of things like this but he had never-

Valjean chuckled.

“What?” Javert dropped his hand, his brows pulling downward in offense.

Valjean shook his head again. “It is only your hair. I have not seen it like this before. I am not mocking you- I like to see you this way.”

“You like me looking like a madman?” Javert’s hair was long and thick and easily tangled. He could only imagine what it looked like in that moment.

Valjean laughed. “Not a madman!” His hand stroked over it again.

“Perhaps it is not as bad as I thought then, but I imagine it still looks as if a bird has attempted to nest in it.”

“Well, we will make sure it has not left any feathers behind,” Valjeans voice was light with good humour and both broad palms ran over Javert’s hair. He froze the same moment as Javert. “I am sorry-”

“No- don’t-” Javert sighed as Valjean had already retreated. “You may… do that, if you wish.”

“You would like me to brush your hair?”

“I would not mind,” Javert muttered. “And… I do not think the regular experience of… _courting_ applies to us. We will just… do as we wish and… learn from each other.”

“I would like that,” Valjean murmured. “I know nothing of courting and I could not imagine trying to court you.”

Javert made a rather undignified snort. “Nor I. But you will not do a very good job of my hair if you don’t have a brush. Go and find one while I dress.”

Javert dressed quickly, wondering if he was perhaps still dreaming. Valjean returned with a cautious tap on the door. Javert sat cross-legged on the bed so that Valjean could stand behind him.

Valjean treated his hair far more gently than Javert did. If he hit a knot, he would grip the hair just above it and Javert felt no discomfort at all. His palm ran over it after the brush each time. 

“I like your hair. It feels very nice. I have… I have often thought of brushing it after I did so before, when you injured your hand.”

“And now you may.” 

They spoke to each other in hushed voices, uncertain of what they were doing and afraid to ruin it.

Javert felt Valjean gather his hair together to tie it and after the sound of the ribbon passing over itself a number of times, Valjean declared that he was finished. Javert turned to him and hesitated before kissing the corner of Valjean’s mouth.

Valjean’s smile was a nervous one but he did not run from Javert. He offered his hand to get Javert to his feet and they went in search of breakfast. They were out of their rooms later than usual and the dining room was quieter, so Javert had the opportunity of asking all of the questions regarding the Gros-Horloge that he had not had the opportunity to ask their host the previous evening.

The sheep was a symbol of Rouen and the picture at the bottom of the clock signified the day.

“It changes?” Javert asked.

“That’s right. That clock can tell you the day, the time and the phase of the moon.”

“We will look at it again so you can see how it has changed,” Valjean smiled, pleased by Javert’s enthusiasm. 

They visited the Jardin des Plantes de Rouen, as planned, and Valjean marvelled at it as much as Javert had the Gros-Horloge. He enthused to Javert about how well cultivated it was and how interesting the species in the rose garden were. He had an almost childlike glee when he entered the greenhouse, filled with dahlias that had been given to the gardens by an Englishman.

Javert found it superior to the Luxembourg only because of the way Valjean would grasp his hand or his arm in excitement.

In truth, apart from how they had behaved that morning, the rest of the day was spent with them acting as they would on any other day. Javert was pleased by that, when he realised that evening as he climbed into bed. He would not wish for the friendship they had to change and he was glad that Valjean was still comfortable in his company.

He had not suffered an arousal of his lust the previous day and he had wondered if he had passed the test, that kissing Valjean was enough to sate him and to cure him. It was not so that evening but, for the first time in his life, Javert was not ashamed. He only thought of the softness of Valjean’s lips, the bristles of his beard, his warm skin, sunny smile and freckled cheeks.

For the first time, he went slowly. Thinking of how nervous and tender Valjean was. How he brought Javert pastries and brushed his hair with careful hands. Javert identified what felt best, how it pleased him to pass his thumb over the head of his cock, to rub at the slit and the fluid pooling there, to put his other hand in his hair and imagine Valjean gripping it instead. He groped at his balls and a quiet, pleased groan escaped his mouth as he stroked them downward. Javert’s hand left his hair to rub at the head again, his breath coming quicker, before he broke, wrapping his hand around the shaft and pumping, losing himself in the sensations and thoughts of Valjean. He hitched his nightshirt up and spent himself over his hand and stomach.

Javert sighed, letting his head fall back onto the pillow and remained there, thinking of nothing at all for a few moments before he fumbled around in the clothes on the chair by his bedside. He retrieved a handkerchief, cleaned himself up and made himself comfortable.

His only thought before he fell to sleep was that he needed to purchase more handkerchiefs.

\-----

Javert awoke bright and early the next day, feeling better than he had done in a long time. He recalled the previous evening but still felt no shame over it. Valjean cared for him in a similar way and Javert had only thought of Valjean chastely, even if his actions were not. 

He met Valjean in the hallway, and still did not feel any shame when he looked upon that familiar bearded face.

“Good morning, Javert!”

“Good morning, Valjean. It seems to be raining a little.”

“Rain is good for the plants, my friend, and makes the air fresher. A bit of rain does us all good.”

They visited the Gros-Horloge for the last time, to see how it had changed, and investigated the castle as Javert had suggested. They both marvelled at the endeavour it would have been to build such a thing. The rain was only a drizzle, and did not spoil anything, in fact _twice_ Valjean had brushed wet hair away from Javert’s eyes. Valjean walked close to him and would occasionally press Javert’s hand with his own.

It would be their last day in Rouen, but Javert was not disappointed and it did not occupy his thoughts. He would look forward to sitting beside Valjean in the carriage, and he would look forward to sitting comfortably in the hut at Rue Plumet again. 

They returned to the inn after exploring the castle to dry their clothes, as Javert reminded Valjean that he had not been well and it would not do for him to catch a cold. They spent the rest of the afternoon revisiting the shops, where Valjean looked to buy a gift for Cosette. He purchased a pretty brooch of a dahlia and seemed very proud of his find.

After dinner, Valjean followed Javert to his room and stood there, pink-faced and looking anywhere but Javert. Javert recognised this as a request to kiss and obliged, leaning down to press their lips together. 

“Thank you,” Valjean breathed. “I have had such a wonderful time. Here in Rouen and Trouville. With you. I have… enjoyed being with you most of all.”

Javert’s hands rested on Valjean’s waist as he kissed him again. “Do you also enjoy me kissing you?” He murmured into Valjean’s curls.

“ _Yes_. I do.”

“Then that is how we will spend our evening, if you do not object. I need to improve at it.”

Valjean’s complexion rivalled a tomato when Javert moved back to look at him. 

“Improve? I think- I think it is very good.”

“Nevertheless, I am sure there is more I can do.”

Javert moved in again, kissing and kissing, delighting in the endless capture and release - better than any other way he had chased Valjean. Then Valjean had the courage to loop his arms around Javert’s neck, and imitate the movement of Javert’s lips. Javert sighed and held Valjean closer, parting his lips and briefly taking Valjean’s bottom lip in his own. He felt Valjean tremble against him.

What had he seen people do on the docks and in darkened alleyways during his patrols? Tongues. People kissed with their tongues in each other’s mouths. He wasn’t exactly sure where to begin with that, Valjean’s mouth was closed, but Javert risked touching Valjean’s lower lip with his tongue. 

He had to give up his trial as Valjean began to tentatively kiss other parts of Javert’s face. The peculiar attention made Javert squirm, the edge of his jaw, his cheek his nose. Javert gripped him tighter when Valjean put his lips against his neck, and he shuddered when Valjean’s nose brushed against his ear.

“Your earlobes are soft…”

“You are are fool,” Javert said with complete fondness.

“Does that mean you do not think earlobes are soft? If being a fool means not thinking like Inspector Javert?”

Valjean’s eyes shone with mirth and his lips were glossy from their kisses and Javert did not think he had ever seen a better sight. He brushed his thumb over Valjean’s ear.

“I would not think to say it.”

Javert took his opportunity when Valjean’s mouth opened in a smile to slip his tongue inside. Valjean tensed and made a muffled noise, but he did not resist. It was awkward and strange, moving their lips together while trying to do _something_ with his tongue.

Valjean broke away laughing.

“What?!” Javert said, folding his arms in indignation. “It’s what people do. It’s not as if you have ever tried to do it before.”

Valjean came closer, shaking his head and putting his hands either side of Javert’s face, his thumbs stroking his whiskers. “It was just a peculiar sensation, that’s all. It wasn’t unpleasant.”

“Well,” Javert huffed, turning his head away. “Maybe it would help if you participated.”

“Show me again and I will try,” Valjean whispered.

They ended up sitting on the bed, Javert leaning over Valjean. They had already improved much from when they began, although Valjean had a tendency to be a passive recipient. His thick fingers combed through Javert’s hair and Javert stroked Valjean’s side.

When the pressure between his legs grew too persistent, Javert pulled away.

“I think we ought to go to bed,” he said, his voice rough and unfamiliar. “We wouldn’t want to miss our carriage in the morning.”

Valjean blinked, looking more than a little bewildered. Eventually he hummed in what Javert supposed was agreement. Javert helped him up, and stood behind him, guiding him to the door by the shoulders so that Valjean would not see the bulge in Javert’s trousers.

“Goodnight, Valjean.” Javert placed a kiss to the top of his head and pushed him out of the door.

Valjean came to his senses just before the door closed.

“Goodnight!”

\-----

The next morning they left to pass through Louviers again. It would only be a four hour journey from Rouen and Valjean could spend the afternoon investigating the factories and finding another gift for Cosette. Valjean cast furtive looks at him for the entire journey, with a permanent blush to his cheeks. As they were in company, Javert could only smirk triumphantly and make Valjean look out of the window.

When they arrived, they stowed their luggage in their rooms, which were separate this time, much to Javert’s relief. He did not want to scare Valjean away with his desires. 

Valjean pushed Javert back into his room just as he was stepping out of it. He reached up on his toes to kiss Javert’s cheek, and promptly turned and left the room again, holding Javert by the arm.

On the way to the the shop where Valjean had purchased Javert's cravat, Valjean asked Javert’s advice about a gift for Cosette, and told him of his fears of why she might not like it.

“How many times do I need to tell you that despite being more fashionable than you, I am not an expert in the field. However,” he said before Valjean could protest, “she will adore anything you get her. A gift from you will mean more than any of the other fine clothes that she owns.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Javert muttered, conscious of the soft cotton of his new cravat at his throat. He gestured to the wife of the shop owner. “This woman can no doubt give you adequate advice.”

Valjean eventually chose a thick, forest green shawl that would keep his beloved daughter warm when the Summer passed. When he made his purchase, the shop owner embarrassed them both by commenting that the navy blue did indeed suit Valjean’s friend very well.

When they arrived back at the inn for the evening, Valjean followed Javert to his room, just as he had done in Rouen, and Javert set about practicing again before Valjean could even stammer out a syllable. 

“How does it feel?” Valjean whispered when Javert stopped for breath. “Why do you feel this way for me?”

“I cannot begin to describe it. Or understand it. It is as if our paths were fated to cross for all these years and it is only now that I understand why.” Javert moved in again but Valjean stopped him with a hand on his chest. 

Javert's face must have shown how his heart had plummeted, because Valjean smiled and tapped his hand against Javert's breast in reassurance. 

“A moment, Javert. You might take my breath away,” he chuckled. “I am an old man and easily overwhelmed in this. You must give me a moment.”

Javert knew the year of Valjean's birth, as it was an important fact on his prison record, but he often forgot the age gap between them. He was always conscious that Valjean was his senior, but he never thought of him as _elderly_. Valjean had a finer physique than many younger men did, as well as being more agile and quick witted, but perhaps Javert's judgement had been unfair. Valjean was perhaps somewhat slower than he used to be, and his illness has aged him more than the years had. Javert wondered if Valjean would still be able to lift a cart, or scale a high wall. 

Javert scolded himself for not taking more care and not paying closer attention. Javert sat Valjean on the bed and settled beside him, and Valjean entwined their fingers and rested his head on Javert's shoulder. And that was more than enough. 

\-----

The return journey to Paris was filled with other passengers and although they could not speak (or act) as freely as Javert would wish, it gave them a good excuse to press closer together. Even so, Javert was relieved to disembark in their home city. 

Javert took their luggage out of the diligence while Valjean tipped the driver (which he had insisted upon). It was late and Javert was tired, more so with the familiarity of Paris relaxing him. Valjean had told him he should stay at in the house for the night, as they had been travelling all day, and Javert could do nothing but accept. He would help Valjean take his belongings inside the hut and perhaps… perhaps he would even kiss Valjean goodnight before he went to his room in the house.

As they went through the gate, Valjean froze in front of him.

“Someone has been here,” he whispered.

The adrenaline jolted Javert awake. Who could be here? _Why_ would they be here? He immediately thought of Thenardier, the only man who still had the power to tear Valjean’s life from him, and Javert’s blood ran cold.

“Candles have been lit in the house,” Javert murmured. Thenardier would not be that foolish would he? It was a trap, or a game. How did he know they were arriving back today?

They set down their luggage and crept towards the building. Valjean put his hand on Javert’s arm when they reached it and pressed their backs against the wall. Valjean unthreaded a key and passed it to him, rising up on his toes. Javert thought about how he did that when they kissed.

“That’s for the back door,” Valjean whispered in his ear, making Javert shudder. “They are likely only expecting me. I shall go in the front and you will take them by surprise.”

Javert nodded. Valjean turned away from him to begin his plan but Javert grabbed his hand. He wouldn't allow anything to happen to Valjean. 

“Don't do anything stupid,” he hissed. 

“I won't,” Valjean promised, and with a squeeze of Javert's hand he was gone. 

Javert went to the back of the house as quickly and quietly as he was able. He unlocked the door and turned the handle with gradual movements to minimise the sound it made. When he pulled the door open, a shadow of a man was waiting. 

Javert leapt inside, grappling the intruder. He grabbed a fistful of cravat and roughly pushed the barrel of his pistol into his captive’s ribs. Wide, terrified eyes stared up at him in the darkness. That gentle bearded face Javert had grown to love so much.

“Valjean?!” 

Javert's gun clattered to the ground and he smoothed his shaking hands over Valjean's lapels and shoulders. 

“Forgive me, I thought- why did you not say anything? I would not hurt you. I did not mean to hurt you.”

“It- it is only Cosette. And Marius. Here.”

Javert sighed, releasing his friend and putting distance between them, despite his desire to reassure Valjean with attempts of gentleness. 

“Let's us go and see them then,” Javert coaxed, allowing Valjean to lead the way. 

“Papa! What happened?!” Cosette cried, jumping out of her chair as they entered the living room. “You are so pale! You are shaking like a leaf!”

“I thought he was an intruder,” Javert muttered, earning him a glare from Cosette. 

She fussed over her father, making sure he was sitting comfortably and serving him tea, as far from Javert as possible. She gently got him out of his shock by asking about their holiday. Javert wondered if he would be able to fix what he had done, if he would ever be able to kiss Valjean again after this. 

He became aware of Marius looking at him. 

“Why are you here anyway?” Javert snapped. “It is late.”

Marius moved his gaze to Valjean. “I'm not sure that he is in a condition to hear it. I did not want to ruin your holiday but Cosette insisted you must be informed right away.”

Javert grabbed him by the lapel and dragged him to the corner of the room. “Inform me of _what_?” He hissed, feeling he already knew what the answer would involve. 

“I received a visit yesterday. From a man known as Thenardier.” 

Marius had kept his voice lowered but that didn't stop Valjean from overhearing. His teacup hit the floor with a crack. 

“I will deal with this.” Javert pointed to Cosette. “You must remain here with him. Keep him inside for however many days it takes for me to return. Don't let him do anything foolish.”

Cosette nodded, holding her father's hand tight. 

“I will catch him,” Javert growled. “Come with me,” he beckoned Marius. “Tell me everything.”

“Javert-” Valjean called as he turned away. Javert could not look at him. 

“I will only return with good news. I will catch him,” Javert promised.

“Javert! Please-!”

Javert was already leaving. He would ensure Valjean's safety, and once Thenardier was dealt with the only person left that would cause Valjean such fear would be Javert. He was not sure if that could be fixed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks to avatoh for betaing <3

Javert was furious. He was furious at himself and his inability to be gentle, at his history with Valjean which they could never move beyond, at allowing himself to experience something which would never work. Trouville and Rouen were all but forgotten as he left the house. He channelled all of his anger and frustration into a single, intense feeling directed at Thénardier. Javert would be rid of him once and for all this time. He would not let him get away. 

Javert stalked to the hut, Marius hurrying after him. Javert opened the door and pulled the boy roughly inside. He tutted in annoyance that there were no candles lit and opened and closed drawers looking for matches with excessive force. 

“Here, Inspector. I have matches in my pocket.”

Marius’ hands were shaking too much to strike hard enough so Javert snatched the matches from him and did it himself. He lit three candles around the room before turning to Marius and pointing to a chair. 

“Now you will sit and you will speak.”

Marius did as he was told, sitting in the chair Javert had indicated. It was were Javert usually sat when he visited Valjean. Javert folded his arms and remained standing - it did not seem right that anyone other than Valjean would use Valjean's chair. 

“I received a message that a fellow wished to see me, this was the note he gave to the maid,” Marius said, offering Javert a piece of paper. “As I'm sure you can see, it did not make much sense to me.”

Javert frowned at the message, which was typically rambling and overly verbose, and held a clear reference to the knowledge of the identity of Marius’ step-father. Javert's lip curled into a snarl of distaste. 

“And you spoke to him?”

“Yes. I did not recognise him at first, for he was disguised, but it was indeed Thénardier. He claimed he had seen Monsieur Fauchelevent - that is to say, Monsieur Valjean - robbing a corpse at the barricade. His evidence was my own ring. He had seen Monsieur Valjean carrying me to safety and thought he had killed me!”

Javert narrowed his eyes. 

“Well, I told him that he was mistaken and he said it didn't matter, that his point still stood because he knew Monsieur Valjean to be an ex-convict. Imagine his surprise at my _lack_ of surprise!” Marius’ mood suddenly darkened. “But he still wished to blackmail us with his knowledge, asking for funds to help him settle in North America.”

“And what did you say to that?” Javert snapped. 

“I said I would need to acquire the funds. I thought you should know about his contacting me before he took the money and left.”

“ _Cosette_ thought I ought to know.”

Marius hung his head at the accuracy of the accusation, and Javert put a hand on his chin and thought on this information. 

“There is only one course of action: that you will arrange to meet and provide the monetary means for his escape, and I will set a trap.”

Marius nodded and Javert narrowed his eyes. 

“But can you be trusted to complete this task?”

“Of course-!”

“You have failed me before, boy. Your inability to raise the alarm at Gorbeau House could have cost Valjean's life.”

“Forgive me, Inspector,” Marius bowed his head. “That was foolish of me but… I have a history with this Thénardier.”

“Of course,” Javert muttered. “I'm beginning to think everyone in Paris has a history with that louse. What is it then?”

“My father told me Thénardier saved his life at Waterloo, and that I should repay that kindness.”

Javert barked a loud laugh, making Marius jump. 

“I am certain Thénardier has never done anyone any kindness.” Although Javert did recall the name of the chophouse in Montfermeil. “I am sure that he was never a Sergeant, there's not an honourable bone in his body. He was likely robbing corpses, and saw a rescue as a fine opportunity for a reward.”

Marius shifted in discomfort, not meeting Javert's stern glare. “I believe you may be right.”

“What would your father think of your aiding Thénardier if he knew of his crimes?”

“Perhaps… perhaps he would use the money to start a new and better life.”

Javert growled. This was worse than trying to have such a discussion with Valjean. “He has had plenty of chances and charity. From Valjean especially.” He considered something that would surely make Marius see sense. “We did not speak of Cosette's past when Valjean confessed his identity to you both, it is a delicate thing to raise in front of her. You should know that the person Valjean took her from was Thénardier.”

Marius blanched. 

“Her mother left her with who she thought were kind innkeepers until she was in a position to raise her child correctly. The Thénardiers extorted her, while mistreating her child. I interviewed locals at the time who told me Cosette was not well-kept. Valjean gave Thénardier a hefty sum to take Cosette away, and yet the scoundrel still had the nerve to accuse him of kidnap once he had gone. You will help me take him into the hands of the Law to get the justice he deserves.”

“Yes…” Marius said, and shook of his stunned expression off his face to settle into a determined anger that Javert felt within himself. “Yes. I will. There will be no hesitation this time, Inspector. You can rely on me.”

\-----

The main problem was _where_ the exchange of money between Marius and Thenardier should happen. It had to be somewhere that would not make Thénardier suspicious and somewhere it would not be easy for him to bolt, yet Javert and other members of the Force would need a position to lie in wait. 

The most natural option was for Thénardier to arrive at the Gillenormand’s once more - it was formal, Marius had allowed him in before and he could be easily cornered. But it was complicated. Javert and his colleagues would not be able to easily sneak inside and it was likely that Thénardier would keep a watch on the meeting place for any suspicious activity. The other occupants of the house were also a liability. They would have to be informed of the situation and Javert could not trust that Thénardier wouldn't get information out of them, or that they would be able to act naturally. 

A street was easier for Javert to be undercover in, but Thénardier could escape them more easily. It was also suspicious. What reason would Marius have to make the exchange in the street? Marius could say that he did not want his family to know of his providing money to a criminal, but Thénardier might not give him an option to explain, it was likely that if he suspected anything he wouldn't turn up. 

He was far more cautious since the capture of the Patron Minette. No one in the Force had caught sight of him since Javert had last seen him at the barricade. Javert hoped that he was as desperate as he was suspicious, and that would make him agree to Marius’ terms. 

The terms were decided. Marius would tell Thénardier that the back gate to the garden would be unlocked, and Marius would be waiting by the rose bush at 11pm. This played as though Marius did not want to be seen by the other occupants of the house, that they were meeting in secret where Marius felt comfortable and the late hour should put Thénardier at ease. Javert could have men waiting near the entrances and exits, which Marius would inform him of, to prevent Thénardier’s escape or assist as backup.

Javert would be the only person hidden in the garden before Thénardier arrived. His presence was not common at the Gillenormand household but nor was it unusual. He was a good friend of Cosette's father, and he could have many reasons to wish to speak to Marius and so it would not be suspicious to the service staff. He would just have to be sure Thénardier did not see him enter the property or their chance would be lost. He could not afford any mistakes but he also did not have complete confidence in Marius. Javert had to be in the location himself, to see exactly what happened and intervene when necessary. He chased away the thought that this was personal, and that he wanted to place Thénardier in irons himself. 

They could not wait too long or Thénardier would know Marius was planning something. A letter would have to be given to the gamin Thénardier had mentioned in the morning, instructing the time and place to meet, and Javert would have to hope he could gather enough men to his mission, and have it approved by his superiors. He was tempted to question the boy, to find Thénardier’s hideout, but he could not run the risk of any word of police involvement getting back to Thénardier.

There could be no mistakes. If they lost Thénardier this time, Javert was certain that they would never find him again. 

\-----

Javert had to entrust Marius to write and send the letter by himself. As tempted as Javert had been to oversee him writing it the previous evening, it was best of he did not interfere for the letter to be entirely natural. 

Javert had not slept, he tossed and turned in annoyance until he got out of bed and started pacing. His plan turned over and over in his mind, and he tried to identify all the potential flaws and all the ways in which Thénardier could react, yet he knew he _must_ rest. It would not do to have his wits dulled tomorrow but still, sleep evaded him.

He had opened the window and leaned out, looking at the stars. He remembered studying the night sky on the stable roof with Valjean, and looking out across the sea at them in Trouville, of Valjean's excitement to show him the Gros Horloge. His shy and nervous smiles, the way his pale hair accentuated the blush on his face… Javert had sighed and got back into bed but had only been able to slip in and out of a dozing state. 

He rose with the sun and forced himself to eat breakfast, even though he did not feel hungry and his instincts screamed that there were more important things to be doing. If he had not slept, he should at least make sure he retained his strength throughout the day. It certainly had nothing to do with the knowledge that Valjean would want him to eat. 

Now, he paced in front of his desk, waiting for the other officers to arrive. He had already penned a message to Chabouillet, but it would be at least an hour until his patron was at his desk, and perhaps it would take even longer than that before he was able to read it. Javert turned on his heel and stalked back across the room. 

What if his superiors were otherwise occupied? Could he command men on his own authority? No. He would have to do it alone if he must. He had set this plan in action and there would not be another chance. 

“Sir?”

Javert stopped mid-stride to frown at Rivette. 

“Back already?” Rivette attempted a smile but it quickly fell away. “What's happened?”

“Thénardier.”

Rivette’s eyes widened and he sat on the edge of his desk. Javert filled him in on the plan and Rivette exhaled a low whistle once Javert stopped talking.

“You're back five minutes and you've already been able to track Thénardier!” Rivette marvelled. 

Javert waved him off. “It was uncommon good fortune. But we cannot let it slip away.”

Rivette was eager to lend his assistance, which wasn't unusual, but he had a personal stake in this after helping capture the rest of the Patron Minette. He suggested other officers that could assist with enthusiasm and it was a welcome method of occupying Javert’s thoughts until he received a response from Gisquet or Chaboulliet. 

The hour passed much quicker in this way, and a message was delivered by an errand boy in what felt like no time at all. 

> _It is good to know you are still on form. I'll allow you four men to cover potential escape routes, we cannot waste all of our resources on one man, but I understand the necessity in not allowing him to escape._
> 
> _I imagine you will desire to use Rivette. I'll allow it so long as he fulfils his daily duties as usual and joins your mission this evening._
> 
> _I expect to find Thénardier in our cells tomorrow morning._
> 
> _-Gisquet_

“Confirmation of the plan, Sir?”

“Indeed. But you best get out on patrol. Gisquet only wants your attention on this when we’re ready to move.”

Rivette nodded but couldn't hide his disappointment. As Javert watched him leave the room, he realised how valuable Rivette was and how he had come to rely on him at times. He felt as if he ought to treat him better, that perhaps his behaviour towards Rivette was somehow lacking, but he had never been any good at navigating social interactions. 

Javert sighed, he did not have the space in his mind to consider that at present. 

\-----

Javert would have to enter the Gillenormand’s in disguise, in case it was being observed. He would arrive at precisely 5pm in the guise of an old friend joining them for dinner. Marius would know to open the door to him to avoid any questions from confused house staff. 

He had gone to Rue de l’Homme Armé to prepare as Valjean still owned the property. If Thénardier tracked the direction he arrived at the Gillenormand’s from, it would not raise suspicion. There was no point in disguising himself if he strolled out of his own home. 

The portress allowed him in after his assurance he would only be a few hours and she would be aiding official police business. She seemed to have a favourable opinion of him for ‘rescuing’ Monsieur Fauchelevent from his illness, and asked many questions regarding her previous tennant’s health. 

He managed to disentangle himself from her interrogation with reassurances of strained politeness. She gave the suitcase to him that Marius had delivered to her that morning with the instruction Monsieur Fauchelevent’s friend would be collecting it. 

Thénardier would not be easily fooled, Javert had a distinctive appearance. Changes that would not be expected were in order. He took a deep breath and picked up his razor. 

He would do this. For Valjean. 

Clumps of hair fell onto the table as he shortened and thinned out his whiskers, switching between scissors and the razor. It was good to focus his mind on this when it would be many hours before Thénardier was in his grasp. 

Once his facial hair was ‘acceptable’, Javert wove his hair into a tight braid, which he coiled up into a bun and secured to the top of his head. There would be no need to cut his hair, he had procured a black wig, in a fashionable, wavy style that would poke out beneath his hat. He did not acknowledge that it was an investment that wasn't _completely_ necessary - he could cut his hair just as well as his whiskers, but then Valjean might not run his fingers through it. 

Before he continued with his hair, he opened the suitcase Marius had left for him, far nicer than anything Javert possessed. Inside were all the component parts of a gentleman’s suit. The one disguise no one would ever expect of him. 

He dressed himself in finery that seemed absurd to him and felt as if it hung unnaturally on his frame. It was only slightly too short in the arms and he wondered who it belonged to. The grandfather probably. He left the cravat in the case and tied the one Valjean had given him around his neck. He did not use his usual method of tying it, but imitated the style Valjean wore. 

Once he had dressed, he pinned his fringe back and arranged the wig on his head. He wasn't too concerned that the bump of his actual hair was visible because the hat would cover that. Finally, he smoothed and neatened his eyebrows with wax. 

He hesitated and retrieved the cravat pin from his pocket, affixing it to the center of the knot of his cravat. He closed the suitcase back up and held it by his side as he looked in the mirror.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered.

\-----

Javert took a fiacre to the Gillenormand’s, and tried not to think about the further strain on his funds. It suited his role better to travel this way and the less he was seen, the lower the chance of him being recognised. 

He knocked sharply on the door and Marius opened it, as had been arranged. He gawped stupidly at Javert for a moment before regaining his wits. 

“Ah! How good to see you my friend! Do come in!”

He spoke a little too loud and with a bit too much forceful cheer, clapping Javert heavily on the shoulder as he ushered him inside. Javert tried his best not to flinch, and suffered the incompetence in silence. 

As soon as the door closed, Marius removed his hand from Javert. 

“Why, it is a transformation! I hardly recognised you!”

_That is because you are a complete ninny and easy enough to dupe._

“For the better, I hope,” Javert said in a voice that was undoubtedly an impression of Madeleine. No one would know that. He had to keep up the pretense in case Thénardier was in contact with any of the house staff. “Would you keep an old friend stranded in your hall?”

Javert had the temptation to hiss the question at him, and glower for good measure, for Marius was entirely missing the point of _total discretion_. He settled for more of a melancholy drawl. 

Marius’ eyes widened and his mouth formed an ‘o’ of realisation. Javert resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Ah! Would you care for a drink? Wine? Brandy? Let us go to the study where we can have a proper discussion.”

“Brandy sounds like just what I need.”

Marius’ eyebrows went halfway up his forehead. Apparently, he still did not quite understand that Javert wasn't being himself. 

Once inside the study, Javert closed the door behind them, set his case down by an armchair and sat down, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled in front of him. Marius offered him a glass of brandy which Javert took with his left hand, passed to his right, and handed it back to Marius. 

“I don't drink on duty.”

Marius blinked, surprised by the return of Javert's usual voice and mannerisms. He took the brandy back and swallowed a large gulp. 

“And that's the last you'll be drinking,” Javert added. “I need you to be _reliable_ , remember?”

“Yes. Yes, Insp- Monsieur.”

“Good,” Javert grunted. “You will stay here with me until you are due to meet Thénardier, although I do not expect you to keep up this charade behind closed doors. You will tell your family that we are in intensive business discussions, and will be taking a light supper here as to not disrupt our planning. The rest of the time you will spend as you wish, you do not have to concern yourself maintaining a conversation with me.”

Already taking this suggestion to heart, Marius only nodded. Javert breathed deeply and tried to relax. This would be a torturous few hours of waiting. 

His mind immediately wandered to thoughts of Valjean and he made no attempt to redivert it. How pleased Valean was to see him whenever Javert visited, how he always seized an opportunity to take Javert’s arm. Javert wondered if he would still be greeted in such a way upon his return, and proceeded to spend much of the wait thinking of suitable apologies, none of which were adequate. 

\-----

Finally, _finally_ the moment approached. He had resumed pacing an hour ago, filled with nervous energy. He had to trust Rivette had organised everything from his end and that everyone was in position, there was nothing for him to do except prepare himself. 

He opened the case, removing his pistol and handcuffs from inside and hiding them in the pockets of his coat. Javert opened the door and peered out into the dimly lit corridor. Empty. He gave one last parting look at Marius and crept out, silent as a cat, as he made his way to the living room with the garden-facing window. 

Javert opened the door slowly. It was just as dark and empty as the corridor, as Marius had assured him. They had not waited in this room for fear of Thénardier spying activity in a room so close to their meeting place. As he moved towards the window in a low crouch, as discernible as a shadow in the night, he noticed the window was opened very slightly - also as Marius had said. Javert found the boy’s performance thus far to be highly reassuring, despite the strained silences in the study earlier. 

Javert carefully edged the window open further. This particular window was partially obscured by a rather large bush. Javert left himself just enough room to squeeze out into the night air. He landed softly onto the grass without a sound, and remained in his crouched position. 

He would not risk moving from this spot. He could see the rose bushes if he leaned out slightly. Roses reminded him of Valjean and the Luxembourg. He bit the inside of his cheek. He could not afford some absurd bout of wistfulness now. 

Marius stepped out from the house, slightly earlier than planned but that was no matter. Marius’ nervous disposition was not unusual. 

From his hiding place, Javert saw a figure enter the garden, soon followed by another. He ducked low, keeping himself tense as he strained his eyes to identify Thénardier’s companion. Javert gritted his teeth. Of course. How could he have overlooked this possibility?

It was a girl in a tattered dress. The remaining daughter. Of course Thénardier would bring her to aid his sob story and Javert was certain she was capable of jumping to her father's defence if things didn't turn out in his favour. He gritted his teeth and prayed that Marius would not be swayed. 

Thénardier approached Marius with a swagger which held far too much confidence. Javert would be glad to see the look on his face when he was suddenly in the iron grip of the Law. 

“I knew your kind heart would listen to reason, Monsieur,” Thénardier said with a slight bow. “You are doing a fine thing indeed, granting a new life for my daughter here. We wouldn't have lasted much longer, Monsieur. The men in the streets prowl around her like wolves!”

Marius looked towards the girl and Javert could imagine the sickening pity on his face - this girl who showed him the fate his beloved might have suffered if not for Valjean. He knew how that look would delight Thénardier and probably incense the girl. 

_Don’t. Don’t. Be patient. Let him come to you. Let him come closer. Don't be fooled._

Marius stuffed his hand inside the inner pocket of his coat where he kept the money. Javert wanted to scream. They had to bring the money to show Thénardier, to placate him and make him drop his guard, but they could _not_ allow him to get his hands on it. If he vanished after that there was no hope of catching him. 

Marius hesitated. His arm across his chest, hand frozen in his pocket. The fool! Did he not know how suspicious he was acting?

But Thénardier, impatient and driven by the temptation of seeing the money, stepped closer with a submissive, non-threatening gesture, holding his arms slightly out by his sides. An act to show he was harmless and unarmed. Javert doubted that very much. 

Marius jerked his arm a few times - it seemed his hand had got caught on the fabric. Thénardier’s hands were already stretching out towards him with greed. Marius pulled his arm free and the papers were strewn across the grass with the motion. 

Any noise of exasperation that passed Javert's clenched teeth was thankfully drowned out by Thénardier’s exclamation. He dropped to his hands and knees to scavenge the money as fast as possible lest it fly away on a strong breeze. 

Javert could not have planned for a better opportunity to strike. 

He leapt like an apex predator. As soon as he was out of cover the girl screamed. Thénardier turned but not quick enough. Javert grabbed hold of his wrist. 

“Thief!” Thénardier cried and Javert's face split into a grin full of teeth. He saw horror and recognition flick over Thénardier’s face. 

“You're under arrest,” Javert growled. 

“Inspector! I have information!”

“Then you should have presented it at the station like an honourable citizen.” Javert fished out his handcuffs. 

“It is the convict! Jean Valjean! I know where he is!”

“Jean Valjean is dead,” Javert said smoothly. That was what had been reported in the papers after all. “Fell off the ship Orion. Many years ago.”

“It is a lie! I have seen him!”

“Then perhaps you should be sent to an asylum-”

Javert saw the dangerous flash in Thénardier’s eyes as the metal if the cuffs touched his skin but he had no time to react. He took a blow to his side but quickly closed the metal around the scrawny wrist. 

He hissed through his teeth as Thénardier moved the arm that had struck him away. It had not been a punch, but a blade. Javert was only conscious of it as it slid out of his body. He released Thénardier to hurridley attach the other cuff to his own wrist. Javert could not let him escape. 

The knife plunged into him again and twisted. Javert cried out more in anger than pain. He tried to reach the gun in his pocket but Thénardier quickly pulled the blade free and raised it to strike once more. 

Javert grabbed hold of the blade with his free hand, closing his fist around it. Thénardier jerked it back in and attempt to remove it from Javert's grasp. Javert tightened his hold, even as it bit into his palm. Thénardier kept pulling. Javert's blood was making the metal slick. He could feel the knife slipping from him. 

He was distantly aware of the girl threatening Marius with her own knife. The boy was talking to her. After all of this was he to die and get Marius killed too? 

“Drop the knife!” Someone shouted. “Both of you! _Drop the knife!_ ”

There was a shot and Javert was knocked to the ground with his assailant. 

They scrambled against each other. Thénardier’s long fingers closed around Javert’s throat. Javert struggled beneath him. Thankfully, he was smart enough to wear his leather stock beneath his cravat and was able to gain the upper hand and kick Thénardier off of him. Javert's arm was roughly pulled after him as they were still cuffed together. 

Thénardier scrambled to his feet faster than Javert could, bloodied notes clutched in his hand. He kicked Javert in his wounded side, making himself stumble when Javert collapsed heavily onto the ground. 

Another shot rang out and then someone was grappling Thénardier, forcing him to his knees. 

_Valjean…_ Javert thought, his heart swelling with hope even as it constricted in fear. _He should not be here._

A whistle sounded. It was the police. His backup, not Valjean. 

“He is mine,” Javert growled, trying to get up as another set of handcuffs fastened around Thénardier’s wrists. _He_ was meant to be the one to lock him in a cell that Javert was certain he couldn't escape from. 

“Yes, Sir,” the calm and familiar tones of Rivette replied. “You got him.”

Javert heard him relaying instructions but couldn't focus on what he was saying. 

“Rivette,” he snapped. “You are not to let him out of your sight. Do not intrust this to anyone else.”

His arm dropped to his side as the cuffs they shared were removed from Thénardier. 

“Alright, Sir. You can let go of the knife.”

Rivette took Javert’s hand, dark and slick with blood, and gently prised the fingers open. Javert had not noticed it had continued digging into his flesh. He could not seem to move his fingers himself and he hissed as Rivette extended them. 

“The girl…”

“We have her,” Rivette assured as he pressed some kind of cloth into Javert’s mauled palm. “Hold that.” 

“No… She cannot be arrested. She must… She must stay.” Valjean would not forgive him if he sent the girl to her father’s fate. He swayed were he sat, blood swelling up from the cuts in his hand.

“If you say so, Sir. The boy seems to know her. I'm sure he'll take care of it.”

“She must be watched. He shouldn't let her get away-” Javert lurched to his feet and Rivette caught him with an arm around the shoulders. She could still identify Valjean. She was still a risk. 

“Easy. Easy now. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No.”

“With all due respect Sir, you'll bleed out before you get to where you're going. You are going to the hospital. Immediately.”

“I need to-” he couldn't say Valjean's name. What was his alias? He couldn't think. He couldn't give his address to the police either. “I need to get back…”

He needed to tell Valjean he had done it, that he had succeeded. Javert wanted to be the one to tell him and see the look on his face. There were other men now, dragging him into a fiacre, putting pressure on his wounds. He gritted his teeth against the pain and his own inadequacy. 

Why did his success feel like such a failure? The cuffs still weighed heavily on his wrist as he was taken against his will. Is this how Valjean had felt when he had been captured? So bitter and hopeless and frustrated?

It would be different now. Valjean would undoubtedly take the girl in and Javert would not get a chance to see him beforehand. Even if Valjean could look at him without fear, now his attentions would be wholly reserved for the poor waif. She was a perfect substitute for Cosette, and Valjean would treat her well, but Javert felt petty jealousy at her for what would surely come to pass.

It was worse than Cosette in a way, because this girl was an uncomfortable reminder of his own childhood. She would be bitter and distrustful - not the pure, delicate creature Cosette was. He knew Valjean would treat her just the same as his daughter, despite their differences, giving her the guidance and kindness Javert had never received in his youth. It made him uncomfortable to think that he was just another waif to be taken in.

He could not deny that they had to keep this girl close - he did not know how much her father had told her, or if she could ruin Valjean. Surely if that was the case, Valjean's good treatment of her would make her loyal. A darker thought told him of the possibility that she would smile sweetly and take Valjean's charity with one hand while she picked his pockets with the other, whether she knew anything or not. 

Javert slipped into unconsciousness, the jolts of pain from the bumps in the road accompanied by all of the hazy scenarios that his mind tried to form overwhelming him. 

\-----

Javert groaned and immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his side. He squeezed his eyes more tightly but then hands rested on his chest and arm. 

“Javert? Are you awake?”

Javert's eyes flew open and he cursed as he immediately tried to sit up. Valjean's firm hands pressed him back down and it was as if they pressed the very breath out if him. 

_Valjean._

That kindly face. That quiet strength and dignity. 

“Javert?”

Valjean's features were tight with concern and Javert covered the hand on his chest with his own, only to frown down at it. He couldn't feel Valjean's hand, but a quick observation made it clear to his slowed mind that this was only because Javert’s hand was swaddled in bandages. 

He looked back up to Valjean's face. 

“I caught him.”

There was something of a question in the words - Javert was not entirely sure he had been successful. This was not how he intended to relay the news at all. 

Suddenly, Valjean had his hands either side of his face and he was kissing him. Javert was so surprised that he did not have time to react. Valjean had never initiated such a kiss before. 

“You did,” he murmured, resting his forehead against Javert's. “But I was so worried. You said… You said you would not leave.”

“I was on my way back.” 

All of his previous worries evaporated in Valjean's presence. There was just Valjean and that was all that mattered. 

He felt Valjean's fingers stroke the side of his face and Javert mourned the loss of his whiskers. Just as Javert moved his head back to kiss him, Valjean moved away and pulled back the curtain around the bed to reveal Rivette approaching. 

“How is he?”

Good Lord. It was fortunate Valjean still had his senses sharpened. Javert wouldn’t have been able to explain away being caught in such intimacies. 

“Awake,” Javert grunted. 

“I'm glad to hear it, Sir.” Rivette stood at the opposite side of the bed to Valjean. Javert felt Valjean tighten his grip on his hand. “The doctor tells me there is no serious internal injury. That is very fortunate.”

“Hmn.”

“But you must remain off work to heal. You cannot afford to reopen your wounds.”

“I imagine Gisquet will have something to say about that, I've only just returned from my leave.”

“Forgive my saying so, Sir, but they owe you for taking the entirety of the Patron Minette off the streets.”

“Are you advocating my retirement to take my position, Rivette?”

“‘Course not, Sir,” Rivette smiled. “I don't imagine you're suited to the retired life.”

“Anything to report?”

Rivette took a breath before he answered. “Thénardier…”

Valjean's free hand rested on Javert’s chest to hold him down at the very moment his instincts told him to leap. 

“Where is he? Did he escape? What has happened?”

Rivette shook his head. “He succumbed to his injuries, Sir. Last night.”

“Are you certain? Who saw him?”

“I'm sure, Sir. I found him myself. No signs of life.”

Javert could not find it in himself to be pleased with this news. What would Valjean think? That a man had been imprisoned with untreated injuries and left to bleed in a cell. It certainly wasn't a glowing indictment of the police force. 

“Thank you for informing me.”

“Of course, Sir. And the Baron Pontmercy has the girl. He said he knew her sister and feels he has to look out for her. Do you wish for me to question her?”

Javert shook his head. “As long as he isn't foolish enough to let her run off, it can wait until I'm on my feet.”

“Alright, Sir. I'll let you rest and try and keep Gisquet at bay for a day or two.”

Javert nodded, already exhausted by the interaction. 

“Thank you, Inspector,” Valjean said softly as Rivette turned to leave. 

Rivette flashed him a smile. “A pleasure, Monsieur. Make sure he doesn't aggravate those wounds.”

“I'll try my best.”

With a final bow of his head, Rivette exited the room. It wasn't until he was gone that it dawned on Javert.

“Damn. I think he might've saved my life.”

“That is why I thanked him, Javert,” Valjean said with a smile in his voice. 

“Why didn't you say something?!”

“I did: ‘thank you’.”

“No! To _me_! I ought to be the one giving my thanks.”

“You can tell him the next time he visits. I'm sure he'll forgive your lapse of memory. You've been on laudanum.”

“That explains a lot.”

Javert looked at their hands still clasped together. Was that unusual? Perhaps not, Valjean had probably feared for Javert’s life, no one could fault a sentimental old fool for holding his friend’s hand on his hospital bed. He hoped that explanation would suffice. Javert didn't let go. 

“You may wish to return home, I imagine there will be many policemen coming and going from here.”

Valjean shook his head. “I don't want to leave you.”

“I will only be resting. I won't reopen my wounds.”

“Even so, I'd like to be here with you.”

Javert relaxed, letting his eyes fall closed for a few moments. 

“Who told you? Pontmercy didn't give Rivette your address did he?”

“No. It seems he is more competent than you think.”

Javert opened his eyes to see Valjean’s smile. 

“When neither you _or_ Marius returned, Cosette was concerned enough for us to go and investigate. The police were gone by the time we arrived and Marius told us everything. I came straight here after that. Cosette remains with her husband and the girl, Azelma.”

Javert wasn't going to even think about the girl, let alone have a conversation about her. 

“I want to leave this place. I would leave now except I know my colleagues would hassle me elsewhere. I will wait until their questions are out of the way and then…” 

He almost said _we can go home_ but not meaning his own home at all. His lonely rooms were the last place he wanted to be. He desired to be at Rue Plumet with Valjean, where Javert could kiss him freely and often, and Valjean might lay by his side. 

“And then you may take me. Back. To Rue Plumet. If you wish.”

“I do,” Valjean said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But only if the doctor allows you into my care.”

“Damn what the doctor allows. Hospitals are filled with diseases, I'll be much better off with you.”

Valjean only smiled and they shared the silence together until Javert put a hand to his bare neck in shock. Valjean tensed, awaiting terrible news. 

“Where is my cravat?”

“With the rest of your clothes I imagine.”

“And where are _they_?” Javert snapped, realising for the first time that there wasn't anything between himself and Valjean's firm hand other than the bedsheet. He prayed that his body would not betray him here. He focused on his pain instead. 

“I am not sure. Would you like me to find out?”

“Yes,” Javert rasped, suddenly unable to spend another moment in Valjean’s company. 

Once Valjean had left, Javert focused on the throb of pain that matched the beat of his pulse. He surveyed the room - more beds, more patients and nothing of interest. 

He wondered how badly his hand was damaged, and if he would need to strengthen his left to be his dominant hand. He was faintly amused that he had sustained a similar, less serious, injury to his left palm before. 

He recognised Valjean's footsteps before he saw him. 

“The shirt and coat are beyond saving, I'm afraid. And the trousers are perhaps too bloodied. But I have your boots and cravat.” Valjean held up the mentioned items. 

“And the pin?”

Valjean held the star up to him. “And the pin.”

“The cravat isn't stained with blood?”

“No. It is fine.”

“Good,” Javert muttered, feeling foolish. “And I don't much care that the rest of it is ruined, those clothes were provided by Pontmercy, although I suppose he will need reimbursement…”

“Do not worry about that. But I would have quite liked to see you in that outfit,” Valjean chuckled.

Javert felt warmth in his cheeks and focused on the throbbing of his hand and how there was a stab of pain in his side with every inhale. 

“You would have been disappointed,” he muttered. He would not make such a fool out of himself in Valjean's presence, play-acting a poor imitation of Madeleine. 

Valjean merely smiled in that infuriatingly shy way of his and shook his head. 

Valjean moved away when the doctor arrived to question and prod at Javert. He received glowers and clipped responses for his efforts and once the bandages were refreshed, Valjean asked if he could take Javert into his care. The doctor seemed relieved at this, and began detailing his instructions. 

Once he had left, Javert was still not allowed Valjean’s company to himself. He noticed Chaboulliet striding across the room, his gaze scanning over the beds he passed until he found Javert. 

“Monsieur Secretary,” Javert said before he approached to give Valjean fair warning of who he was about to meet. 

“Javert,” Chabouillet shook his head, fond and exasperated at once. “At least Gisquet won't be able to argue with me on this one. You look awful.”

“My apologies. It was not my intention for you to have to repeatedly come to my defence.”

“Do not concern yourself. I know you are worth the effort. And besides, three instances of work absence across a year isn't much to complain about, especially when two of those were a result of injury sustained on the job.”

Javert frowned. He had never said he was injured after the events of the barricade. There was a question in Chabouillet’s statement, an acknowledgement that he knew Javert had been evasive about his reasons then. The memory of his letter of resignation hung heavily in the air. 

“Monsieur!” Chabouillet turned to Valjean who visibly jumped. “I suppose you are the man I ought to thank for aiding his recovery last year?”

Valjean looked at Javert, unsure whether he should lie. 

“Yes,” Javert answered for him and Chabouillet offered his hand to Valjean. 

“Your name, Monsieur?”

“Ultimé Fauchelevent,” Valjean said as he shook Chabouillet’s hand. “But if you'll excuse me, I must be going. Javert, I'll fetch you fresh clothes.”

Javert did not look at Chabouillet as Valjean left but he could feel his gaze, perhaps an eyebrow slightly raised and definately much too curious. 

“An interesting fellow.”

“Too charitable for his own good,” Javert grumbled, attempting to cross his arms and then aborting the motion when fresh pain shot through him. 

“Are you satisfied now?” Chabouillet asked when Javert didn't provide further information. 

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, you have been different this year. It wasn't something that healed once you returned from your disappearance last June, it has continued. It is not a critique,” Chabouillet was quick to confirm. “Your performance has been unaffected. Well, you perform differently, but you still get results. You have also been restless, I think. So my question to you is, now the Patron Minette have been dealt with - are you satisfied?”

Javert thought for a moment. His job was no longer the only thing that provided him satisfaction. Since Valjean had accepted his kiss when they had been in Rouen, Javert thought he was perhaps the most satisfied he had ever been. Ridding Paris of the Patron Minette had provided job satisfaction _and_ personal satisfaction. 

“I believe so,” Javert replied. 

“Then I will expect you back as soon as your stitches have healed. But not before.”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“Rivette can fill me I on the details and that should be enough for Gisquet for now.”

“Thank you.”

Javert sighed and let his head drop back when Chabouillet left. He could do nothing but listen to the groans and hacking coughs of the other patients. He pulled the sheet up over his mouth with his good hand and wondered if that was full of diseases too. 

It was a welcome distraction when Valjean finally returned, Javert’s clothes bundled in his arms. 

“We should leave now,” Javert said and Valjean nodded.

“I was thinking the very same thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one seemed to take forever aa  
> apologies for the wait. thanks to those of you that commented on the previous chapter, that really gave me a much needed boost <3


	12. Chapter 12

Valjean had taken Javert to Rue Plumet, holding him close in the fiacre to try and reduce the painful jostling of the carriage over cobbles. As soon as Javert had entered the hut, he had collapsed onto the bed as heavily as his injuries would allow. He slept soundly despite still being fully clothed. He had not accepted Valjean's offer of assistance to help him dress at the hospital and the effort of that task alone had exhausted him. 

Valjean carefully removed Javert's boots but it seemed as though he would be out for the night, no matter how loud or heavy handed Valjean was. He didn't imagine Javert had been able to sleep the previous night either, Valjean himself was up worrying with Cosette. She refused to go to bed in case he ruined Javert’s careful planning regarding Thénardier’s capture, so they waited through the night together. 

After gently placing the boots at the end of the bed, Valjean's careful fingers loosened Javert's cravat. He had to help him tie it before they left the hospital, for the mere moments they would be in public. How Javert had worried that Valjean’s gift to him might have been lost or ruined! Valjean slowly slipped the fabric from Javert's still form and stroked over it in his hands, feeling the warmth of Javert’s skin that still lingered in the weave of the cotton. He sat on the edge of the bed and considered Javert again. 

He could not untie Javert's braid as he was laying on it, but Valjean unpinned his fringe and combed it flat over Javert's forehead with his fingers. His thumb traced down Javert's cheekbone as he went to move his hand away but Valjean found he did not want to lose this physical contact. 

He continued to stroke Javert's cheek with his thumb, feeling the warmth of his skin and of his soft, steady breaths, the warmth of his very living. Valjean could feel his eyes growing heavy and his head drooping and so he finally pulled himself away, lest his exhaustion made him fall across Javert. Javert grunted and shifted in his sleep, his head falling to the side where Valjean's hand had been. 

Valjean quickly changed into his nightshirt so he could be beside his friend once more. He laid a sheet over Javert, despite the fact he still wore his coat, and slipped under it himself to lie by Javert's side. 

Was this too forward? Would Javert find it disagreeable if he were awake? Valjean was too tired to wrestle with such questions. He placed his head against Javert's shoulder and rested his hand on his chest to feel the strong, steady beat of his heart. 

Javert had returned to him, that was more comforting and important than Thénardier no longer casting a shadow over his life. That Javert was here, by his side, made Valjean feel safe and wanted and content. He had never had those things in his life before. He pressed himself closer, breathed deep and closed his eyes. 

\-----

Valjean awoke but he did not want to open his eyes. He was warm, so comfortably warm, and it wasn't only his body temperature - his very soul felt as though it had been warmed. He pulled the sheet closer to him and snuggled against a solid body. He immediately lifted his head and looked at Javert, who was awake and seemed stiff and uncomfortable. 

“I'm sorry-” Valjean began but Javert’s hand settled cautiously on his side to prevent him from getting up. 

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” Javert's voice was quiet and calm although he seemed to quaver. In an apparent effort to counteract this, his fingers tightened their grip on Valjean's nightshirt. 

Valjean settled back down and Javert sighed, his body relaxing. Valjean risked pressing a fleeting kiss to his jaw but Javert turned his head and captured his lips with his own before Valjean could pull away. 

“You kiss like a thief,” Javert muttered. “It's as if you steal them from me before running away.”

“I do not want to run from you.”

“Then you ought to kiss me,” Javert said somewhat petulantly. “I won't arrest you for it.”

Valjean found himself smiling, giddy that he was here with Javert and that they were safe. He kissed Javert as instructed, feeling him shift closer. 

There was shuffling outside the door and Valjean quickly removed himself from Javert, who grumbled in complaint. Valjean was suddenly aware that he had no idea what the time was - if Toussaint or Cosette were expecting him. He couldn't check his watch as it was in the pocket of his coat and he was still in his nightshirt. 

Thankfully, there was no knock at the door but a note slipped underneath it. Valjean waited until the visitor departed before he retrieved the paper. 

_M’sieur. I do not wish to disturb you. You need your rest. But you also need your food. It is outside the door._

Valjean smiled. “It was only Toussaint, leaving breakfast for me.”

“Who else would it have been?”

Valjean shrugged, feeling foolish for his paranoia. He retrieved the basket that Toussaint had left and was grateful for her allowance of his privacy. She had been in his employ for many years and knew that he kept odd hours and preferred to be left alone. Valjean was glad to have her back, she was a great comfort and understood him well.

“I do not think she knows you are here but this is enough for us to share until we are dressed and respectable.”

He caught Javert's stare. It was intense and peculiar and made Valjean feel incredibly exposed. 

“I can't say I care about respectability at the moment,” Javert murmured. 

“What?” If Valjean didn't keep his respectability he surely came too close to the convict of his past. It didn't make any sense that Javert would say such a thing. 

“Nothing! Nevermind! Bring the food over here, I am hungry.”

Valjean did as requested, and Javert's strange attitude persisted. 

“Sit here and join me.”

Valjean raised his eyebrows but sat back down on the bed. Javert was full of demands this morning (or this just-barely-morning). He pulled Javert up so his back could rest against the pillows, keeping his injured side straight. Javert did not protest, in fact, he was unusually quiet regarding this manhandling. 

“I need to eat before I have the energy to get up at sit and the table, so we will eat here,” Javert said in explanation. “And as for your manner of dress, your housekeeper doesn't expect you immediately, you have nowhere to be. If you sit around in your nightshirt for another hour it makes no difference to me.”

“Very well.”

“As you've been telling me, you are an old man. If you need to continue to rest after you've eaten, you should do so.”

“I have already agreed, Javert.” Each further explanation Javert gave, although reasonable, sounded like more of an excuse. 

And so they sat, side by side, tearing chunks of bread and dipping it in jam, getting crumbs on the sheets. It did not feel uncivilised, it felt more like an innocent, childish freedom, where there would be no judgement for their foolish behaviour. 

Perhaps it was this feeling of childishness that made Valjean bold enough to lean over and take the bread from between Javert's fingers with his teeth. Javert became very still and tense and Valjean felt incredibly foolish. Javert's strawberry-sweet fingertips brushed his lips. Valjean swallowed the bread and looked up, ready to apologise for whatever had just happened, but he found Javert's eyes wide and his nostrils flared. 

Before Valjean could speak, Javert pulled him close and kissed him ravenously. Javert kissed the same way he did anything he set himself to - with a single-minded ferocious dedication. Valjean thought that Javert did not like the idea he was not performing his task to a desirable standard, hence all of the ‘practice’ while they were in Rouen. Valjean did not think he would ever get used to it, he was left stupid and breathless every time. 

This time was different somehow. It was heated and insistent in a way it had not been before. Valjean was unbearably hot. His stomach plummeted to warm, fizzing depths that made him restless. He pushed Javert back, his heart racing as if he were fleeing some terrible danger. 

“Your hair.”

Javert's eyes were glazed with a stunned confusion. “My… hair?”

“It needs brushing. You slept in your braid. I will brush it.”

Valjean left the bed to rummage around for a hairbrush, leaving Javert quite obviously bewildered and disappointed. Hairbrush located, he decided to brew a pot of tea and heard Javert's exasperated sigh. Javert busied himself in the meantime, getting up to relieve himself, and Valjean made sure he kept his focus on the tea. 

Javert sat on the edge on the bed and Valjean brought him his drink. Now suitably calm, Valjean knelt behind him and began unthreading Javert's braid in silence. 

“Oh…”

“What?” Javert snapped attempting to turn his head. 

“Why, your braid has made it wavy.” Valjean ran his hands over it. “It is like a river at night, streaked with moonlight…”

Javert snorted. “I did not know you thought yourself to be a poet.”

Valjean gently untangled all of the knots, and continued brushing long after he had finished. He abandoned the brush in favour of using his hands and sat with his legs either side of Javert. Javert carefully pressed back against him, making Valjean stop so Javert's back could rest against his chest. 

“You will send me to sleep with that,” Javert groused with no real complaint. 

“It is really so relaxing?” Valjean asked, proud of such an achievement. 

“Hm.” Javert turned his head to press his lips to Valjean's cheek. 

“I ought to check and redress your wounds,” Valjean said, distracting himself once more with another task. 

He removed himself from Javert and found the supplies he had brought back from the hospital. Why was he constantly moving away when Javert attempted to move forward? Because he did not know what to do in the face of such pleasure. He did not know how to react. He had always considered himself undeserving, of many things, so what made him deserve this?

He had happily fallen into Javert's kisses since Rouen, and indulged himself. The feeling was so _good_ and so strong, Valjean was helpless to refuse it. Something was different now, their contact meant something else that Valjean did not understand. He could feel that there was going to be a change. He was afraid. 

He returned to Javert, unwrapping the bandages around his hand, revealing a criss-cross of stitched lines. Javert slowly attempted to spread his hand flat. He hissed through his teeth. 

“Oh, Javert…” Valjean cupped the injured hand between is own with great care. “We shall do our best. I will not let you lose a finger.”

The doctor had warned them of the possibility of the deeper gouges on his fingers reopening or suffering from necrosis. Currently, most of the skin on the underside of Javert's hand was inflamed and angry but at least that indicated blood flow. There were faint pink and yellowish stains on the dressing where the wounds had weeped, but it was not too concerning. 

“You should not move it too much. I will bind it tight again once I have washed it, but I shall take a look at your side first.”

Javert nodded and Valjean helped him stand and remove his coat. It was unfortunate that he was wounded on his left side and his right hand, ordinarily Valjean would get the arm of the undamaged side out of the sleeve first, to loosen the coat and make it easier to remove gently from the more delicate area. In this situation, Valjean had to make an assumption about which side would hurt the least with this maneuvering. 

He pulled the coat from Javert's left shoulder first and only heard a quiet hiss of discomfort as Javert removed his arm from the sleeve. They slowly eased the injured hand out once the coat had been removed from the rest of him. Valjean hung it on the stand by the door. 

One hurdle passed, one more to go. Javert started to undo the buttons of his shirt with his left hand and Valjean allowed him to finish. 

“I will help you get it over your head.” The suggestion earned him a glower but it held no ferocity. “Arms up.”

Javert rolled his eyes but had the foresight to sit back down on the bed so Valjean could reach to help him. He lifted his arms and Valjean pulled the shirt off. It hung limp in his hand as his eyes were shamefully drawn to Javert's bare skin rather than focusing on the wound. His chest was covered in dark hair and Valjean's eyes followed the line of it down to the waistband of his trousers. He flushed, turning his attention to folding the shirt instead. 

“Let's have a look,” Valjean said, his voice not as even as it ought to be. 

Valjean returned to his place on the bed and began to unwind the dressings, which were as stained as the bandages from his hand. Valjean tried not to worry, it was expected in these early stages of healing. Javert lifted his arm slightly for Valjean to have a clear view of the injury once it was bared. There was bruising all across his ribs, but thankfully the knife had penetrated beneath the rib cage, and perhaps even glanced off the lower bones of it, preventing the blade from sinking deeper. 

“The stitches are holding…” Valjean said for something to say. 

Javert's undamaged hand rested on his shoulder, causing Valjean to look up and meet his eyes. They were dark and intent and Valjean could not look away, not until Javert leaned forward to kiss him and his eyes closed. Javert's hand moved to the back of his neck, to pull Valjean with him as he laid down. 

Valjean found his own hands on Javert's warm skin, against his stomach and his uninjured side. It made them both shudder and Valjean could not help but make slight stroking motions. Javert did not cease kissing him until his need for air forced him to stop. 

The world was silent aside from their breaths, which seemed unnaturally loud to Valjean's ears. Javert's thumb rubbed at Valjean's hip and a small groan escaped Valjean's lips. His face became instantly and unbearably hot. He looked up to Javert's face to find his gaze locked onto that embarrassing region between Valjean's legs. 

“F-Forgive me, I-”

“It is good,” Javert said gruffly, placing his injured hand against Valjean's back to encourage him closer. He paused suddenly. “Unless you disagree?”

Valjean huffed out a breath. “I don't know what to think.”

Javert waited, frozen in place. “I can help you, if that is what you wish.”

Valjean nodded before he even knew what he was doing. Javert kissed him again, his tongue pushing inside and coaxing Valjean's. Despite this pleasant distraction, Valjean was painfully aware of Javert's hand sliding over the front of his hip. It came to rest on the jutting length under Valjean's nightshirt and Valjean trembled from head to foot like a newborn foal. 

It was Javert who groaned in obvious pleasure when his hand began to stroke over the obscene shape. No sound escaped Valjean, it was all balled up at the base of his throat. He could not move, he could not respond to Javert's kisses, he could only squeeze his eyes shut and feel his body quiver. 

“Valjean,” Javert murmured against his ear. “This pleases me, does it please you?”

Valjean stared at him then, wide-eyed and pink faced as his hips bucked in a response he could not voice. Valjean bit his lip in abashment at the action. Javert dived upon him, kissing him as if compelled. Valjean's mouth opened to him and he moaned into it. 

Javert’s hand moved away and he took hold of Valjean’s hand in his own shaking fingers and closed his eyes. He brushed their knuckles against his own arousal, making himself flinch sharply, even under such faint contact. He swallowed. 

“See? I am similarly affected.” Javert wetted his lips but still didn't open his eyes. “I-If you would permit- If you desired- I would. Gladly. I would.”

“You would what?” Valjean asked, his voice so quiet Javert might not hear it over the sound of their breathing. 

Javert swallowed. “Touch. I would touch you. Wherever you might want me to.”

Oh, _want_. Valjean did indeed want, his body craved the touch of another - of _Javert_ \- as it had never done before. 

“Please,” he whispered, not knowing what he specifically desired but knowing he wanted to be _touched_. 

Javert groaned, deep in his throat, and kissed him again. His hand slipped under Valjean's nightshirt and a Valjean felt his fingertips brush over his bare thigh. He whimpered, dizzy with desire, and then Javert's skin touched his prick. He jumped, startled by the sensation, but then Javert's long fingers curled around it and Valjean could not think at all. 

Javert kissed him, hungry and persistent. Valjean could feel the noises he made more than he could hear them. He could feel Javert mapping his flesh, carefully feeling the shape with greedy fingers. Valjean could do nothing. He was burning. His breathing was heavy but it did not feel as if he was inhaling any air. He was sweating profusely. Closing his eyes did not stop his head from swimming. He was drowning. 

Suddenly, Javert stopped and Valjean felt absurdly and terribly alone. All contact was removed. 

“Valjean? Valjean, look at me.”

With some effort, Valjean blinked his eyes open, taking gasping breaths. Javert swiped his thumb beneath Valjean's eye, wiping away a damp trail. 

“I'm sorry. I do not understand,” Valjean said, his voice hoarse. “I could not breathe…”

“Shh. Breathe now.” Javert murmured, stroking Valjean's hair with a trembling hand, his face oddly contorted in the attempt to change between pleasure and concern. 

Valjean focused on his breathing, his eyes falling closed again and feeling his body calming, even though he still tingled all over and there was the ache between his legs. 

He could not bear the thought that Javert might think he had caused harm and would never touch him in such a way again. He struggled to put the words together in his head. 

“It is not that I did not want it- it is only… It is a lot. Overwhelming. Do not… do not be discouraged.”

Javert said nothing and Valjean pulled away. He had ruined the moment, had made Javert feel guilty about his desires. Valjean had never been intimate - it should come as no surprise that he was wholly inadequate in this manner. 

“I will get some air,” he said as he turned and stumbled from the bed, his own voice distant to his ears. 

He pulled on his trousers, shuddering as he closed them over his hardened flesh, and left the hut. He hid himself at the back of the small building, leaning his back against it, and sighed. 

The breeze was cool and refreshing, the birdsong sweet and calming. He could still feel the ghost of Javert's touch imprinted on his body. Why had he left? Why had he denied them something they both desired? 

He thought of Javert alone in the hut, neglected. He was in need too, his body singing for Valjean just as Valjean’s was for him. Javert would have to… Valjean gasped at the vision of Javert rubbing at himself in desperation. Valjean's prick throbbed in sympathy and the back of his head knocked against the wall. 

It was foolish. They both wanted. They could help each other. Instead, Valjean had left and made it more complicated. He was always running from his problems. He did not have to run from this. He went back and knocked on the door before he could think too much about it. 

“Javert…?”

“What?” Javert barked after a moment. 

“I have… I have changed my mind.”

“Get in here then.”

Valjean still hesitated by the door after he stepped inside. Javert was sitting up, grimacing as if the position pained him, and that made Valjean go to his side. 

“Lie down,” Javert commanded, and when Valjean did so, his voice softened. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. I am not… I am not certain of what to do but I am certain that… that I want this.”

Javert kissed him, his lips soft and chaste. His fingers hovered above the waistband of Valjean's trousers and Valjean saw him swallow. 

“... May I?”

Valjean nodded but Javert struggled to unfasten the buttons one-handed so Valjean took over, his nightshirt still covering his modesty as he kicked himself free of the garment. He looked cautiously at Javert's trousers. 

“Yes,” Javert said immediately, the word tumbling awkwardly from his lips. 

Javert leaned back to not bend his wounded side, and Valjean unfastened his trousers with shaking fingers. Javert had nothing to cover himself. He would be entirely naked. Valjean would see everything. He realised that he wanted to. 

Javert's eager prick revealed itself to him, poking out of the fabric as Valjean loosened the fastenings. He quickly averted his gaze, looking at Javert's face instead. He was chewing his lip, flushed and flustered. 

“Kiss me,” he panted, and Valjean obliged. 

Javert struggled out of his trousers with Valjean’s help and Valjean made a great fuss of folding them to buy himself time. When his eyes fell on Javert again, his breath caught in his throat. He looked so vulnerable, bared in such a way. His prick was dark and full, resting against his belly and the nest of thick, dark hair there. It was not as daunting as Valjean would have thought, _he_ had caused this reaction in Javert, Valjean was _desired_. Wanted. Perhaps even _needed_. 

He tentatively touched Javert's prick, a light touch with the tips of two fingers. It twitched at the contact and Valjean jumped in surprise. He exhaled a breathless, self deprecating laugh. He closed his hand around the shaft and Javert gasped and writhed against the sheets. It was slimmer than Valjean's own prick - not that he ever touched himself in this way often. Touching Javert this way was infinitely better, although he did not have the courage to do much. 

“Oh…” Valjean pulled his hand away just after one upward stroke, to look at the warm fluid across the back of his fingers. “ _Oh._ ”

“Valjean,” Javert's voice was rough and deep in a way that made Valjean's pulse thrum in his ears and between his legs. “Lie on your back.”

Javert hesitated after Valjean did as he was bid, trying to ignore the obscene tenting of his shirt. 

“I want to see it.”

“What?”

Javert rolled his eyes. 

“O-oh. I know. I just- uh, of course.”

Javert's stroked up Valjean's thigh with his uninjured hand, his fingers kneading the firm muscle there. He groaned. 

“God. Valjean.”

Valjean shuddered but he could not protest Javert using the Lord’s name here. He had never felt anything so pure. He could not fathom how he deserved such a thing, but it pleased Javert and Valjean did not want to deny him. 

Javert's hands slid further pulling the shirt up, revealing Valjean's prick. Valjean trembled. He was dreadfully exposed. He had been entirely naked in front of others before, of course, in the bagne, but his dignity had been taken from him then. He had not felt like this, he had been a beast full of nothing but hate. Such tender and vulnerable emotions would have been impossible there. 

The situation had not been like _this_ at all. He certainly hadn't been in such a… condition in front of another. His prick jutted out, exposing it’s flushed head from its sheath, drawing attention to itself in a way no other part of Valjean would. It was as if it did not belong to him at all. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling that his face was probably as red _that_. Javert's lips pressed against his own. His eyes flew open at the sensation of Javert's hand curling around his shaft, and a whimper escaped through his teeth. 

“You are safe with me, Valjean.”

Valjean nodded, sighing at the sensation of Javert's hair brushing his cheek. 

Javert’s breathing was ragged and his hand left Valjean, coming to rest by his head instead. There was not a moment to consider this change before Javert's tongue was sliding into Valjean's mouth again and his hips thrust forward. Their tender flesh bumped against each other and Valjean's arms wrapped around Javert, holding him as they rutted together. 

Javert was on the chase, unyielding in his action and singular in his focus, but no, Valjean was not being hunted. This was a pursuit they were united in, they chased their pleasure together as partners and equals. Valjean was caught up in the tide now, with no hope of reaching the shore. He had no desire to escape. 

Javert shuddered and a helpless noise escaped him. Valjean wondered if he had pulled his stitches but then Javert jerked against him in an irregular fashion, his teeth pressing against Valjean's neck as the warmth of his seed spurted across Valjean's stomach. 

There were a few more sporadic thrusts until Javert sank limply in Valjean's hold, his breathing slowing. After a moment, Javert kissed him again, slower and calmer than before, but no less thorough. Valjean groaned against his lips and Javert's hand travelled downwards to resume its attentions. Valjean's head fell back and he was rendered completely helpless. 

Valjean gasped and panted and caught Javert's kisses, feeling raw and dizzy and _good_ , yet his body required more. Not from Javert, who had already given so much, but from himself. Valjean was holding back in a way that he could not control. 

Javert started to stroke him faster, then slower, then tried other things - his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head which made Valjean bite down on the inside of his cheek. When the hand moved down and cupped his balls, Valjean's legs were forced to spread wider and he hid his face in the crook of his elbow. 

At this act, Javert stopped and Valjean was left feeling absurdly bereft again. When he summoned the courage to peek out from under his arm, he found Javert's expression to be one of bitterness. 

“It is not- I do not satisfy you?” He asked when he noticed Valjean looking. “Perhaps if I could use my other hand I could please you better…”

“Good God, Javert!” Valjean exclaimed between panting breaths. “Can you not see what you are doing to me? I have never felt such a thing. Do not stop. It- it is more than satisfying.”

Javert's expression was still distrustful and he hesitated in resuming his action. Valjean held his face, missing the sensation of his whiskers beneath his palms. 

“I am afraid,” Valjean confessed, closing his eyes. 

“Of me,” Javert moved to pull away but Valjean held him in place. 

“No. Of myself. Of letting go. I don't know what will happen or who I will be.”

“I want to see it.”

“Hm?” Valjean risked opening his eyes again. 

“The man that you are when you are unafraid. The man you do not have to craft and consider. This tree pruner from Faverolles, show him to me.”

Javert leaned down to kiss at Valjean's neck. Valjean shuddered.

“I want him.”

“ _Javert_.” Valjean's hand tangled in his hair as they kissed. 

“You have been Fauchelevent and Madeleine and… a prisoner but none of those people are who you _are_ \- not even Jean from Faverolles, not anymore. But all of them are _part_ of you and I want all of you.”

Valjean whimpered against his kisses and caresses until he found the breath to respond. “You can have me. You have me.”

Valjean had surrendered himself to Javert that night last June, in a different way, but it was true that he had been in Javert's power since then. He only had to wait for Javert to decide what to do with this gift or burden of another man's freedom. It was only now, despite all of Javert's previous assurances that he did not seek to arrest him, that Valjean felt utterly _free_. Even within Javert's possessive grip, with his teeth at his neck, Valjean's soul soared untethered. 

He could not stop the small, desperate noises that left him and he found that he did not care, they hardly seemed to come from him at all. 

“Ah!” He tensed, one hand fisting in Javert's hair and the other tightening its hold on his hip. 

“I've got you.”

Valjean couldn't even comprehend if that was reassurance or a possessive declaration. It did not matter. 

“ _Valjean-_ ”

He did not remember who he had been in Faverolles. He knew who he was now. He arched up to Javert, seeking _more_ , even though that was surely impossible. He writhed and curled his toes in the sheets. 

“Valjean...”

“Yes-” _I am_. “Y-yes.” 

One more stroke and then it hit him like a wave. He gasped for air as his body sparked in a way it had never known. It felt like he might die, like he had already ascended, like nothing he had ever felt before. 

Javert continued his caress until Valjean was spent and dazed, and then he laid down, half over Valjean's chest, and heaved a great sigh. His hair spread over Valjean's face and Valjean began to shake with breathless laughter. 

Javert groaned as he moved to look at him and assess what Valjean was doing. Valjean couldn't stop smiling, it was so broad and his face was so unaccustomed to it, that his cheeks ached. Javert blinked in bleary surprise at this reaction and Valjean leaned up to kiss his cheek. 

Javert flinched with his next movement, and Valjean was reminded of his injuries. He hurriedly untangled himself from Javert to settle him onto his back. 

“Javert!” He exclaimed, taking hold of the wounded hand, which had begun to weep. “I am sorry. I should have bound it right away and oh, your side… Does your side hurt? We shouldn't have… We shouldn't have-”

“I am glad we did,” Javert said quietly. “It is not so bad. They can be washed and bound now.”

“That is not to say I am not… That I am not glad it happened. I only regret that it might have hurt you.”

Javert looked away. “It was worth it. It does not hurt so much.”

Valjean looked down at his nightshirt for the first time, damp with sweat and… other things. He jumped up from the bed in a fit of embarrassment, even after all that had just occurred between them. 

“I will dress and I will return with water,” he declared as he grabbed his clothes from the chair. 

He kept his back to Javert as he hurriedly wiped himself clean on his nightshirt and pulled on his trousers. He had to turn to face him when he removed the nightshirt, for it was better for his chest to be seen rather than his back. He did not look at Javert as he took it off and redressed, leaving it in a heap on the floor. 

“I will be back shortly,” Valjean said unnecessarily and feeling foolish for it. 

He left the hut as quickly as he could, and was startled by the bright sunshine. The world was just as he left it. How could it be when he had been shaken so thoroughly mere moments ago? Had it been such a short time? 

He could not believe he had braved being touched so intimately - and in daylight! There were no secrets between Javert and himself, there was no reason to hide in the cover of darkness. There was nothing to hide, although Valjean still appreciated the curtain of Javert's hair around him when Javert leaned down to kiss him. 

Valjean wondered if it was depraved, doing such a thing during the day, but he hadn't found it to feel illicit at all in the moment. Now he only felt a stunned kind of happiness and a shy excitement when he thought of Javert touching him - or whenever he thought of Javert. 

Toussaint greeted him as he entered the house and he flushed, feeling that somehow she must know what had occurred. Valjean was so pleasantly shaken, he felt that if anyone looked at him they would see the change and _know_. 

He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Toussaint.”

“Good afternoon, Monsieur.” She replied with a smile. “It is approaching one o’clock.”

“Ah, forgive me. I brought the Inspector here from the hospital yesterday and had to see to his wounds, although I will admit I did sleep much longer than I ought to.”

“Nonsense, Monsieur. You've hardly slept these past few days. You need your rest. Why, you look so much better today. There's a good colour about you.”

“Ah. Well. That is good.”

“How is the Inspector? Is he badly hurt?”

“It will take some time to heal but he isn't in any danger. I have come to fetch clean water to wash the wounds.”

“Well, I'll make you both a hearty lunch, Monsieur.”

“Thank you, Toussaint.”

He retrieved two clean basins, one for cleaning the wounds, the other for Javert to wash himself, and went out to the pump to draw up a bucket of water. Back at the hut, he filled the basins with water and soaked a fresh cloth in one. Finally, he looked at Javert, feeling his face grow warm. 

Javert was still flat on his back, completely exposed. He granted Valjean a hesitant, lopsided smile. Valjean drew up a chair beside the bed to rest the basin on. 

“Let us see to your hand first.”

Javert offered his hand and Valjean cleaned it, slowly and gently, before binding it once more. He placed an awkward kiss to the bandaged palm, for he had always kissed Cosette’s minor bumps and grazes when she was a child. He moved onto bathing Javert's side before he could comment, but Javert's hand rested in his hair in response, so Valjean placed a gentle kiss above the stitches too. 

Once Javert's chest had been bound again, and he was laid on his back, Valjean still found his hands lingering against his skin. He cautiously lifted his gaze to Javert's face. 

“Thank you,” Javert murmured. 

His fingers curled around Valjean's wrist as he moved Valjean's hand over his chest, his eyes falling closed, encouraging Valjean to touch. Valjean obliged, giving into his own temptation to feel the softness of Javert's stomach, the texture of the hair, and the firmness of his chest. 

Valjean traced lines between the dark spots that were scattered over Javert's skin. “Le grain de beauté,” he murmured.

Javert rolled his eyes. “They hardly add or detract ‘beauty’ unless it's a conveniently placed mouche but even then, with this amount you would surely think I’m covering pox scars.”

Valjean stroked over Javert's stomach with the flat of his palm, shaking his head. “It is as if you have constellations within you.”

Javert snorted and looked down at himself with a grimace. 

“See here,” Valjean ran the tip of his finger across three dots in a diagonal row on the left of Javert’s stomach. “That is Orion’s Belt.”

“Hardly, if there is not the rest of Orion surrounding it.”

“Well then, it is Javert’s Belt.” Before Javert could protest, Valjean bent to kiss it. “And this,” Valjean traced a large inverted triangle on his ribs between three marks, and a smaller inverted triangle above it, “is The Trowel.”

He kissed that one too and felt incredibly privileged to be the first person to map this hidden territory. He traced more shapes and patterns between the marks, without naming them. 

“There is more beauty in your body then there is in mine,” Javert said, his voice strangely dry, his hand pressing against Valjean's firm chest, just to feel it, not to push him away. 

“Not to me.” Valjean kissed an arrangement of dots he decided to name The Wolf. “Not to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is nowhere near the end  
> there's gonna be a whole long journey of sexual exploration yet ;>  
> (with, perhaps, some plot too)
> 
> I commissioned nuizlaziart to do a [scene](https://random-red-ramblings.tumblr.com/post/186198074946/nuizlaziart-commission-for-random-red-ramblings) from this chapter!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaa this chapter took WAY longer than it should have to write...  
> motivation problems, but thanks for your comments - they really do help! <3

They did not speak of their newfound intimacy, and they spoke little after Valjean had returned from leaving Javert to wash and drawing a bath for himself. There were no words to speak. Valjean sought to be close to Javert and Javert kissed him often. The day passed, quiet and languid.

Valjean had received a letter from Cosette, that wished Javert well, and Valjean wrote a response that did not include an invitation. Perhaps that was rude of him, but he desired Javert’s company to himself, both of them hidden away in his hut together. The small building had never felt like such a home in all the years that he had lived there as it did now, with Javert. 

When the evening grew late he still did not wish to leave Javert's side. There was an exchange of furtive glances but Javert did not offer for Valjean to sleep beside him again. It was perhaps too much too quickly and Valjean decided to spend the night in the armchair but when he rose to prepare himself for bed, Javert grasped his hand. 

“You do not have to- you may sleep in the bed if you wish.”

“I would like that,” Valjean murmured, following the small tug Javert gave his arm. 

He extinguished the candle before slipping beneath the sheets, gingerly resting his hand over Javert's chest. They were silent for some time and Valjean would have thought Javert to be asleep if not for the racing of his heart beneath his palm. 

“I really do not mind the armchair if I am preventing you from sleeping.”

“No.” Javert cleared his throat. “You will remain here.”

It was difficult to gauge Javert's mood when Valjean could not see his expression. His voice was terse and his body tense, so Valjean removed his hand from Javert's chest but remained beside him. 

More minutes passed in still silence and then, perhaps thinking Valjean had at last fallen asleep, Javert began to shift and turn, seeking a more comfortable position. 

“Javert. What is the matter?”

Valjean only received a grunt in response and Javert went still once more. 

“Javert.”

There was movement and suddenly Javert's lips were against his own. 

“ _You_ are the problem. But I do not want you to leave.”

Valjean's hand rested against Javert's side and stroked downward as he kissed him. Javert shuddered when it reached his hip. Valjean moved his hand across Javert’s middle and found Javert to be erect. 

“Or I am the problem,” Javert muttered. “I am certainly the problem. I never thought that my sins would be Lust and Greed-”

Valjean kissed him again to silence and reassure him. “There are no sins in acts of love.”

“There it is again,” Javert muttered. “How can you be sure?”

“I will grant you that there is certainly temptation, but the wool isn't being pulled over my eyes here. I do not believe… well, if this was sinfully done I don't not think that love would be involved…”

“That is what I mean. How can you be so sure that it is…” Javert trailed off, as if somehow fearful of the word. 

“Love?” Valjean coaxed. “Because I feel it.” He wavered, his heart plummeting as the words formed in his tongue. “... Don't you?”

Javert caught his shoulders before he could pull away. “Yes,” he snapped, a breath against his lips before that mouth was on Valjean's again. 

_Then why are you so unsure? Why must you ask?_

Valjean couldn't form the questions around Javert's mouth, but he knew the answer already didn't he? It had been in Javert's stubborn bluster of their first kiss, even then throwing himself into it just as he would have thrown himself into the Seine, assured of his own damnation. Javert had never considered that Valjean would return his feelings. 

Valjean carefully settled himself over Javert, just as Javert had been atop him that morning, and he flushed at the memory. Javert exhaled a startled puff of air and Valjean kissed him, slow and deliberate. He felt Javert shudder beneath him and when Valjean finally released him, Javert gulped a series of rough, gasping breaths. 

Javert's hand fumbled against Valjean’s stomach, then lower, before he pulled back sharply and attempted to sit up and move away. 

“You do not- you should not- Do not indulge me!” He snapped. 

Valjean grabbed him by the arms, pinning him to the bed in his desperation to get Javert to stay. Valjean didn't miss the whine that forced itself between Javert's teeth, and how he went very still until his hips twitched upward. 

Then Valjean realised the problem. Valjean was warm and his heart felt pleasantly full but he was not experiencing that dizzying, hot urgency that came from a hardened prick. 

“Javert,” Valjean said, his voice soft. “You were reminding me only this morning about my age. I believe you have… exhausted it. It does not mean I do not wish to do this with you, or that I do not enjoy it.”

“But-”

Valjean rested his fingers against Javert's lips. “This is not pity or mercy… This is selfishness. My own selfishness.”

It was in much the same way that his raising of Cosette had been selfish, her love for him jealously guarded, hiding her away with the rest of his secrets. Only Javert was possessive in his own way and seemed to have no issue indulging Valjean's insecurities, willingly sealing himself away in the hut with him. 

Javert shook his head. “It is not that either.”

They moved at the same time, resuming their kisses. The time for discussion was over. 

“You cannot use your right hand,” Valjean reminded him. “You mustn't move it.”

Valjean wondered if it was sensible to be doing this at all with Javert injured, but at least if Valjean was involved he could ensure Javert didn't move too much. He couldn't stop now that he had shown his desire to assist, it would be cruel. Valjean hadn’t missed Javert's quick intake of breath at his command. 

Valjean pondered this for a moment. First Javert's reaction to being mildly restrained, and now… Perhaps Valjean was reading too much into it, he couldn't see Javert's face. He wished he could but the darkness gave him the confidence to make decisive action. 

“Try to move as little as possible,” Valjean said, allowing the calm confidence of Madeleine to slip into his words. 

Sure enough, he felt Javert quiver beneath him. Javert had always deferred to a higher authority, perhaps it was some relief to him to follow orders.

“But it is dark so you must tell me…” Valjean didn't want to lose his authority (if that's what Javert liked) by being uncertain. “You must report to me, yes?”

“Yes,” came the already breathless response. 

Valjean settled more comfortably between Javert's legs, which parted readily. He wondered if Javert would act in such a manner if it were light, or if the cover of darkness made him more confident too. His hands slipped under Javert's nightshirt and settled on his hips, making him shift slightly before freezing, remembering the instructions he had been given. Valjean wanted to give him permission to express his desire and move at will, but not allowing him to move was principally for his own safety. 

Rather than moving down, Valjean ran his hands up Javert's sides and over his chest, becoming bold enough to explore without Javert's scrutiny upon him. He pushed his fingers through the rough coils of hair and cautiously squeezed the muscle beneath his hand. Javert grunted and Valjean stopped. 

“It is good,” Javert snapped in irritation and Valjean smiled, leaning forward to kiss him as he resumed his caresses. 

Javert's arms remained flat against the bed. It was odd to kiss him without Javert's hands at his waist or in his hair. 

“You may touch me with your left hand.”

Immediately the warm weight of Javert's palm was at the back of his neck and Valjean kissed him again, only to stop at Javert's sharp inhalation. 

“That…” Javert said before Valjean could ask if he was in pain. “That was… pleasing.”

Valjean repeated the stroke of his thumb, rubbing across the soft skin of Javert's nipple whileJavert's fingers wove into his hair. Valjean enjoyed finding these soft areas of this firm man - his freshly brushed hair, his earlobes, and now the tender buds of his nipples. His other hand mirrored the action, eliciting a groan from Javert, and Valjean continued his kisses. 

“ _Valjean_ \- Valjean, I-”

There was a desperate, almost pleading, strain to Javert's voice. 

“I've got you,” Valjean whispered in soft assurance as his hands swept downwards, following the trail of hair to find what he sought. 

His fingers brushed against the wet, eager head first but continued down its length, barely touching at all, and Javert groaned, his grip tightening on Valjean's hair. 

Javert still called him _Valjean_ even now, even though Valjean had used the voice of Madeleine. He would give Javert everything he could, all that he had in his power to give. 

Valjean followed Javert's example, despite Javert's insistence they knew as little as each other in this field, recalling how he had been touched that morning. Javert had always possessed a strong sense of self, so it was understandable that he knew his desires, but Valjean was still only just coming to terms with his identity and he had never put much thought towards his own wants. 

He cradled Javert's balls in his palm, lightly squeezing and rubbing after Javert made an encouraging noise. Valjean did not make him wait long before his hand slid upward to stroke his shaft. Javert hissed and thrust his hips up, rubbing himself against Valjean’s palm. Valjean held his hips down before Javert became disheartened at his inability to do what was asked of him, and Javert gasped at the force, shuddering as he spilled himself. 

Valjean continued stroking until he felt Javert's body relax and a soft grunt broke the silence. He pressed a fleeting kiss to Javert's face as he let go, intending to go for his lips but catching the side of his nose instead. He wiped his hand on his nightshirt and settled beside his friend, placing a hand over his chest. 

“Goodnight, Javert.”

Javert's hand rested over Valjean's and he turned his head to press a kiss against Valjean's hair. 

“... Goodnight.”

\-----

Valjean awoke the next morning, much the same as he had done the previous day, only this time he was aware of who was beside him before he even opened his eyes. He did not open them for quite some time, extending every minute of this peaceful, warm contentment. He didn't open his eyes until Javert awoke and winced as he attempted to turn towards him. 

Valjean propped himself up on his elbow to look at him. 

“Good morning.”

Javert grunted in response and Valjean kissed his sleep-furrowed brow. 

“I will get breakfast and make tea so you have the strength for me to change your bandages.”

“Hmn.”

Valjean squeezed the hand that reached for him as he stood to dress. 

He collected what he needed from the house, and made polite conversation with Toussaint, realising he probably could not risk spending another night with Javert lest it appear suspicious. Or perhaps he would just have to make sure he was up before Toussaint arrived and make the spare room look lived in. 

He returned to the hut and they breakfasted together. Javert took a surprisingly long time to be fully coherent and hold a conversation, but Valjean was quite charmed by this, and felt a small amount of pride that this was a sign of how relaxed Javert was. 

When they were finished, Valjean helped Javert out of his nightshirt and unwrapped the bandages. He studied Javert's palm, which was still inflamed and sore, held it under clean water and very carefully dabbed it dry. Javert did not complain. He said nothing, but Valjean could feel his eyes on him. When Valjean had finished he looked up, but Javert looked away at the same moment. 

Valjean moved to the wound on his side, where the bruising had darkened, and bathed that too. This time he looked at Javert, but Javert's face remained turned towards the wall. When Valjean’s eyes dropped down to find the fresh bandages, he found the reason for Javert's silence: the slight tenting of the bedsheet in his lap. 

Valjean could scarcely believe it, how readily Javert's body responded to him. If he was a younger man himself, perhaps he would be the same. 

“Javert.”

Javert squeezed his eyes shut, the fingers of his good hand tightening in the sheets.

“It's alright,” Valjean said. “I am... well rested.”

“You mean-” Javert turned back to him too suddenly and wasn't able to hide his wince of pain. “You want me to-”

His hand hovered by Valjean's stomach and Valjean guided him to make contact. 

“You only need to… rouse it.” Valjean murmured. “But first I will need to bandage you. You're injuries need to be supported.”

The tension dissipated, replaced by pleasant expectation. Javert did not turn away again and Valjean's hands lingered over his chest and stomach as he bound his injuries. 

Javert kissed him as he moved across to tend to Javert's hand, and his fingers wove through Valjean's curls, moving down to his neck. By the time Valjean had finished, Javert's hand was resting against his shoulder blade. 

Javert's hand stroked over Valjean's chest, squeezing the firm muscle through his shirt. He unbuttoned the waistcoat, but didn't remove it, understanding the unspoken rule that Valjean could not remove his shirt. His hand returned to its previous position and Valjean closed his eyes until Javert's thumb began to circle his nipple, making him shudder. 

Javert's gaze was interested and calculating, and Valjean realised he was repeating Valjean's touches from the previous evening - to see if what had pleased him also pleased Valjean. He moved to the other side, the rough fabric rubbing over the tender skin, and Valjean's eyes fluttered closed as Javert's tongue slid into his mouth. 

A soft whine crawled from his throat, the texture of his clothing too much for him as his hardened prick rubbed against his trousers. Javert's mouth left his, but before Valjean could open his eyes Javert had dropped his head to Valjean's chest. Valjean frowned in confusion but then he felt the soft press of lips against the hard bud of flesh, and he gasped as the soft warmth of Javert's tongue pressed against it. 

“Javert?”

Javert looked up. “You do not like it?”

Valjean did not know what to say but he knew that it did feel pleasant. It was only surprising. He held Javert's face and pressed a kiss to his forehead and Javert continued, wetting two small circles on Valjean's shirt with his tongue. 

Javert smirked when he sat back, and Valjean looked down to find his shirt had become transparent where it was wet. His cheeks burned. 

“I have roused you now?” Javert murmured in his ear, his fingers lightly stroking the bulge of his prick. 

Valjean could only nod and he hid his face against Javert's neck as he unbuttoned his trousers. Javert's hand slipped inside as soon as it was able, long fingers curling around his shaft and pulling him free. 

“It's alright, Valjean,” Javert coaxed, gently pressing the side of his hip with his forearm. “Sit over me.”

Valjean obliged, straddling Javert's thighs and feeling his legs tremble as he did so. Then Javert's large hand wrapped around them both and Valjean's whole body shuddered. He rocked forward as Javert kissed him, and Javert's hand left him as they thrust together, holding his hip and then pushing him even closer by squeezing his buttock. 

“ _Mmh!_ ” Valjean's hips snapped forward and Javert groaned against his lips as he massaged this previously untouched area. 

Valjean looked down between them at their dark, eager flesh and gingerly placed his hand where Javert's had been, rubbing them against each other. Javert's answering kiss was ferocious and his blunt nails pressed into Valjean's skin. Valjean got his other arm behind Javert's back, and held him against his chest in a firm embrace. 

Javert grunted, pushing himself up to Valjean, seeking even more pressure, and Valjean tried to provide it by taking his body weight off of his knees and sitting himself on Javert's lap. Javert's gasp told him he had made the correct decision, and it wasn't long before Javert trembled against him with a muffled noise and hot seed coated his fingers. 

He enjoyed feeling the tension leave Javert and that rigid body soften against his own. 

“You,” Javert grunted against his neck, trying feebly to get out of Valjean's hold. 

“I can wait.”

“I don't want you to. And I want to look at you, so let go.”

Valjean reluctantly loosened his grip and Javert's hand stroked his balls before pumping his shaft. Valjean grabbed hold of Javert's hair and closed his eyes tight.

“Do you want me to stop?” Javert spoke quietly, or perhaps the pounding of Valjean's heart was drowning out his voice. 

“No.”

Javert's lips pressed against his neck, against the thumming of his pulse, and Valjean tilted his head, as if he were offering his lifeblood to a predator. He groaned as Javert's tongue travelled up the line of his neck, surrendering himself and his pleasure to Javert's keeping. 

He was able to let go, to have no responsibilities, to not concern himself with his own thoughts and worries. There was only this moment, his entire body thudding with his heartbeat and Javert's lips against his skin. 

There was still a moment where he struggled to draw a breath and his blood rushed to his head, making him dizzy, but he held onto Javert, grounded himself with his presence, and in moments he found release. He gasped a breath and the air rushed back into his lungs. He leaned on Javert, his body tingling pleasantly. 

A hesitant hand rested against his shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” Javert asked, sounding as if he feared the answer. 

“Hm, yes. Much better than ‘alright’ I think.”

He felt Javert's chest heave against him with a sigh. Valjean pushed himself far enough away to look at him, feeling that strange embarrassment to have Javert see him in such a way, even though Valjean desired it. He ran a hand over Javert's hair. 

“I will brush your hair. Would you like more tea? I think it should still be warm.”

Javert nodded, wiping the evidence of their activity from his stomach as Valjean buttoned his trousers and poured the tea. 

They were silent as Valjean brushed Javert's hair, and even though it might be improper to do so, Valjean sent a prayer of thanks for Javert to have entered his life in this way. He helped Javert dress before he tied his hair back and pressed a kiss to his temple. 

Valjean stood and buttoned his waistcoat, hiding the damp patches on his shirt. 

“I am going to visit Cosette,” he informed Javert as he retrieved his coat. “You need to remain here and rest.”

Javert's scowl told Valjean exactly what he thought of that plan and Valjean found himself smiling. 

“Javert. It will be… suspicious if I never leave this room.”

Javert grunted. 

“I will be back for dinner.”

“You do not need my permission.” 

Valjean returned to the bed to kiss him as Javert seemed uncertain and tense. “I will see you in a few hours.”

“Very well. Go.”

Valjean still turned to smile at Javert before he closed the door behind him. He was rewarded by the upward twitch of Javert's mouth. 

Valjean breathed in the sweet summer air, it was another fine day and it has rained a little in the night, giving his garden a greater vibrancy. He would walk to Rue des Filles du Calvaire, he felt more at peace than he ever had been before and he wanted to appreciate this new life. Besides, he had money in his purse and there was always someone in need. He had perhaps been neglectful in his duties to the poor with his caring for Javert. 

He made sure to slip down cool alleyways to find those most in need, pressing coins against bony fingers. He was almost halfway to his destination when someone hailed him. 

“Monsieur! Monsieur Fauchelevent!”

He turned, not expecting to hear that name called, or any of his names for that matter. It was Javert's colleague at the end of the alley, he was a polite man and kind, but Valjean still hesitated in approaching him. 

“Good day, Inspector,” he said, stepping out into the light and keeping his head down. 

“You should be careful, Monsieur, such places are not safe.”

“That is where the need is greatest.”

“You are a wise and noble man, Monsieur, but it's my job to keep everyone protected, and I know Inspector Javert would be concerned for your safety.”

“Ah. Yes. I suppose.” Valjean did meet his eyes then, finding a kind smile on Rivette’s face. 

“How is the Inspector?” Rivette enquired, falling into step with Valjean. 

Valjean's immediate thought was Javert's face contorted in pleasure and he coughed, trying to bring to mind how he had looked when Valjean had left Rue Plumet. 

“Irritable.”

“Sounds about right.”

They continued in silence until they turned into the next street. 

“Thank you. For taking him in, Monsieur.”

“Oh, that is quite alright. It is good to know he has a colleague such as you. I know he might not express it, but he appreciates your work.”

Rivette bowed his head. “Thank you, Monsieur. I will let you get back to your business but no more charity for today, alright? Inspector Javert would have my head.”

“Very well, Inspector.”

Rivette offered his hand and Valjean shook it. 

“You may call me Rivette. It was a pleasure to see you again, Monsieur. Send Inspector Javert my regards and have a pleasant afternoon.”

“Thank you, Rivette.”

Valjean was lost in thought for the rest of his walk. Rivette was a good man, Valjean had no reason to fear him, especially now that Thénardier was gone, but he worried about the possibility of ruining Javert's reputation. If his identity was ever found out, it would be clear Javert had been harbouring a criminal. He shook his head to dislodge the thought. No, Jean Valjean’s death had been reported years ago. He would not be revealed now. 

The maid allowed him in when he arrived at Rue des Filles du Calvaire, and went to fetch the lady of the house. Cosette rushed into his arms, her entrance accompanied by Marius’ anxious voice telling her to be careful. She stepped back from Valjean quickly and graced him with a brilliant smile.

“Papa, even if you do not live here you must still treat our home as yours. You do not need to wait in the hall, you should settle yourself in the lounge and make yourself at home!”

Valjean smiled and nodded as he followed her, guided by her hand in his, and they say beside each other on the sofa. He only realised he was still smiling dumbly and hadn’t spoken a word until Marius cleared his throat.

“How is the Inspector?”

“Ah, yes. Well, he hasn’t pulled his stitches out or reopened the wounds, so that is promising. Although I cannot say if his boredom and restlessness will lead to injury…”

“Does he not have a hobby?” Cosette inquired. 

“Aside from catching criminals? I don’t think so.” _Or catching me in a rather more pleasant way_ , Valjean’s mind unhelpfully supplied.

“Perhaps you could take some books from our library for him.”

“He hates reading.”

“ _Hates_ reading? How can anyone hate reading? Well,” Cosette tutted. “I can see the problem then.”

“And I can’t think he will enjoy anything he is not immediately proficient in, which makes starting any new hobby impossible.” He realised this made Javert sound frightfully boring, which wasn’t true at all. He had interests and knowledge, he was a welcome conversation partner. “Perhaps I will find a book he might take an interest in.”

Javert seemed to enjoy Valjean’s reading of the Bible, so perhaps a novel would be a welcome change. 

“A good idea,” Cosette said but patted his hand in a distracted fashion and he realised he had been much too preoccupied with thoughts of Javert. 

“Ah, but my dear, how have you been? Well rested after all of your worries, I hope?”

“Yes, but Papa, I-” she stopped herself, looking towards the door. “Oh! But I must introduce you to Azelma! Azelma, come in! Come in!”

A girl lingered in the doorway, one of Cosette’s fair dresses hung from her rake-thin frame. A wide ribbon was tied around the waist but the bust and sleeves still sagged loosely. Her hair had been brushed and tied, and her skin scrubbed clean. Unfortunately all that achieved was to bring out the hollows of her cheeks and the sickly colour of her bruises. 

“Mademoiselle,” Valjean inclined his head. “Please, join us.”

She slunk into the room and sat in a chair, curled up on herself, glaring at them with suspicious eyes from under her brows. It reminded Valjean of Javert when he had taken him from the bridge. 

“Azelma, this is my father J- Ultimé Fauchelevent.”

“I know,” she murmured, and Valjean knew she meant _I know that's not your name_. 

Valjean refused to look away from her, would not give her that confirmation of guilt. Perhaps he was not so safe after all. 

“A pleasure, M’sieur.” Although it didn't sound like she was pleased in the slightest. 

Valjean did feel guilt then. He had saved Cosette from a life with Thénardiers but had left the other children to that fate. Javert would no doubt rationalise it, and point out that at that time the Thénardiers had loved and cared for their children, but that did not change the way Valjean felt. She was right to be jealous and bitter, she had not asked for the life that she had been given. 

“Marius was friends with her sister, Eponine. She… was at the barricade.”

Another fault of Valjean - that he had saved Marius and no others.

“I see,” he said. 

No matter how responsible he felt for Azelma’s situation, her current circumstances were the best possible situation for her. Cosette and Marius could provide for her in a way Valjean could not. Cosette could show her how to be a lady, and there were plenty of rooms and space for privacy. 

“But Papa, I had news to tell you when you returned from your trip - good news.”

“Oh? Then why did you not tell me when we were worrying the night away together?”

“Because that was not the right time, our minds were elsewhere. But now I should like to tell you.”

Valjean waited, Cosette smiled and caught Marius’ gaze before her eyes fell on Valjean again. 

“You are going to be a grandfather.”

Valjean blinked. 

“Papa? I am going to have a baby.”

He nodded and her smile became hesitant until a grin of his own spread across his face and she laughed. 

“When?”

“In the winter, the Doctor says.” Her delicate hand rested on her belly, which was indeed swollen slightly. How could he not have noticed before?

“Forgive me. I have not been as attentive to you as I ought-”

“None of that, now,” Cosette said, holding his hands between her own. “You should be nothing but happy.”

“I am. I could not be happier. And I will be... ?”

“A grandfather, yes. What else?”

He choked out a laugh and Cosette held him close. 

“You will be a fine mother.”

“And you will be the perfect grandfather. I could ask for no one better.”

Marius must have been nervous about how Valjean would react, as he was much more talkative after Cosette’s revelation. They told Valjean of their plans for the nursery, and how they did not care of it was a boy or a girl, only that it would be their child. Azelma sat and watched, assessing them in curious silence. 

“Have you thought of names?”

“Yes. We have decided,” Marius said, smiling at his wife. 

“Fantine, if it's a girl,” she said. “And I was thinking, if you do not mind it - Jean for a boy.”

“... Jean?” Valjean murmured. 

“Yes. After you.”

Tears stung his eyes again. “Fantine is a beautiful name. I only hope Jean is not a cursed one.”

“No. It is my intention to give him the life you were denied, and have him be as happy as you are now all through his life.”

Cosette wiped his eyes with her handkerchief. 

“I am happy,” he choked. “So very happy. Boy or girl, your child will be blessed.”

\-----

Valjean left much later than he originally intended and although he was concerned about leaving Javert for so long, his heart remained light. He took a fiacre and found his excitement to tell Javert the news growing the closer he got to Rue Plumet. As such, he jumped out of the cab, paying the driver an unknown but excessive amount as he handed him the remaining coins in his pocket, and very nearly ran to the door. 

“Javert!” He exclaimed as he entered the hut. “Javert! There is-”

Javert was exactly where he had been left, arms folded and a petulant look on his face. Valjean's joy gave him the confidence to swoop down and kiss him, clambering onto the bed. 

“There is what? Dinner, I should hope.”

“Ah, dinner. Yes. I'm sorry I am late I will tell Toussaint-”

“No,” Javert growled holding Valjean’s arm and Valjean moved to get up, then looking chagrined. “No, tell me what you wanted to say.”

Valjean couldn't keep the smile off his face. “I'm going to be a grandfather!”

“Ah. Indeed. I imagine you will enjoy that.”

Being near Javert put the stark facts into his mind of how a baby came to be and he shuddered at the idea of his little girl not being a little girl at all anymore. He understood Marius’ awkward hesitance when Cosette had said the news. Valjean did not want to think of it, especially now when he had experienced such intimacy himself. 

“Valjean?”

“Yes. Dinner. I will let Toussaint know.”

“That's not- I am not hungry. I can wait.”

Valjean looked at him, the tension of his shoulders, the way his eyes did not quite make contact, and thought he understood the problem. Javert had missed his company. 

Valjean set the book down that he had taken from the Gillenormand/Pontmercy library, and kissed his cheek. “There is stubble already. You will get your whiskers back in no time. I am going to request dinner and I will come right back.”

“I do not need you to hurry.”

“But I will,” Valjean said with a smile before he departed. 

“There is no one else with you?” Javert asked before the door closed. 

Valjean blinked. “No?”

Javert appeared to truly relax at that answer, and Valjean left him to make his way to the house. 

Javert had _missed_ him. They had been in almost constant company for over a week, and it seemed Javert did not wish for that to change. 

Valjean asked Toussaint to prepare dinner, and told her he would get Javert up and into the house to eat it, and then he hurried back to the hut. 

He found Javert holding the book, grimacing as if it was made from some foul substance. He looked up at Valjean as he closed the door.

“ _Poetry?_ ” Javert asked, holding the book up to him, lip curled in distaste. 

“I thought it might be more pleasant to listen to than the Bible.” Valjean took it from him. “ _Les Jardins, en quatre chants_... It looked interesting to me, although I must say I've not read much poetry. If you do not like it I will just read it to myself.”

“We shall see.”

There was a moment and then Javert leaned forward as much as his wounded side would allow.

“Well?”

“You wish me to read it now?”

“What else are we going to do until food is served? Well,” a vicious smirk pulled at his lips. “I _can_ think of a thing or two…”

“Javert!” Valjean admonished, opening the book and lowering his blushing face. “You cannot possibly- _again?_ ” he muttered. 

“I never said _what_ I was thinking of, those apparently lurid details have been supplied by _your_ mind.”

“It was not lurid! And you- it was implied!”

“What was implied, exactly, Valjean? Perhaps I was merely thinking of kissing you.”

“Oh.”

“So what was it? How can I know what I'm being accused of when you won't tell me?”

“You know,” Valjean said, hiding his face in the book. 

“You tell me these things are not sinful and yet you cannot speak of them.”

“-love.”

“What was that? I cannot hear you through that book.”

“ _Making love,_ ” Valjean repeated, throwing the book into his lap.

He was met with Javert's toothy grin and sighed in exasperation . 

“You seem to be enjoying spending your time being amused at my expense.”

“I do believe you ought to be able to say these things to me. But go on,” Javert gestured towards him. “Read.”

“Oh…” Valjean murmured, flipping through the pages. “This is… a very long poem.”

“The whole book is _one_ poem?”

“Well, yes, but I thought it would be broken up into shorter sections… I suppose we will see how far we get.”

It took him a few lines to get the right pacing, and he was still incredibly self-conscious reading it, feeling more absurd with each word that passed his lips. It wasn’t until a particular passage resonated him that he began to forget his own awkwardness and the likelihood of Javert detesting this experience.

> “ _The saw thee happy, and a father’s pride,_
> 
> _A happy mother, and a happy bride;_
> 
> _Thy daughter’s smiles the lovely spot improve,_
> 
> _Improve the flowers, the river, and the grove,_
> 
> _Endear your woodland walks, and native fields,_
> 
> _And crown each heartfelt bliss the country yields;_
> 
> _Your wishes mutual, your enjoyments shared,_
> 
> _Your grounds divided, your affections paired._ ” 

Javert was silent but Valjean did not risk looking at him in case his confidence crumbled. His only thoughts were of the Luxembourg, Cosette and his garden. He continued on, enjoying the journey the verse took him on, describing gardens of the world and all their wonder. He lost himself just as he would within a novel, experiencing things he would never be able to see in his life. He hardly noticed that there had been no interruptions.

> “ _What magic numbers, what melodious art ___
> 
> _Could match the grateful accents of the heart?_ ”

Valjean did raise his eyes to Javert then, his face warm. He was not greeted with derision or boredom, but a very intensive interest which still served to make Valjean self-conscious.

> “ _Hear then its voice in soothing notes reveal_
> 
> _The praise you claim, the gratitude I feel._ ”

Javert’s hand rested on his thigh, and Valjean knew that picking up this particular book had not been a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is [Les Jardins, en quatre chants by Jacques Delille](https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=c_kuAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA3&source=gbs_toc_r&cad=3#v=onepage&q&f=false)  
> (that's the English translation I am using so forgive me if there is anything wrong)


	14. Chapter 14

Much to his surprise, Javert struggled to sleep alone. The past two nights, Valjean's hand on his chest stopped him rolling onto his wounded side, and the rhythm of his breathing perhaps soothed him into sleep. Javert squeezed his eyes shut as if to force his body into doing what he wished. It was ridiculous. He was a grown man, he had slept alone all of his life, but he had stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours before exhaustion claimed him. 

As a result, he was perhaps more irritable than usual when he awoke to Valjean opening the door. Valjean's coy smile flooded the room just as the sunshine behind him did, but neither improved Javert's mood. It was Valjean's fault that he was not well rested. 

Valjean sliced the bread he had brought with him and brewed the tea, prattling on about the weather, his daughter, and his need to tend to the garden. Javert frowned and said nothing, but Valjean did not seem to notice, pushing a plate into his hands as he set about fetching water and fresh bandages. Javert set the plate to one side, his food untouched. 

Valjean did notice that when he returned. 

“You are not hungry?”

“I will eat later.” He was hungry, he just had no desire to eat. 

Valjean looked like he might argue and insist Javert eat something, but he only sighed and sat on the chair by the bedside to drink his tea. Javert swallowed his disappointment. 

“Are you in pain?” Valjean asked as he set his cup down and began to unwind the bandage around Javert's hand.

“No. No more than usual.”

Valjean frowned at the injuries, assessing whether they had improved, but Javert didn't care whether they were healing correctly or not. He only wanted Valjean's touch to travel further, to be less clinical. 

The hand was washed and bound in fresh linen and Valjean helped him out of his nightshirt. His hands did not linger, perhaps because Javert's cock had not risen and obligated him into tenderness. Not that he _wouldn't_ rouse if Valjean kissed and caressed him, but he didn't and Javert remained confused and irritated. 

Javert moved forward to kiss him, but Valjean happened to lean away at the same moment for more strips of linen. He hadn't noticed and Javert aborted the idea altogether, sitting in silence as Valjean tended to him. 

“There,” Valjean said, gently patting the bandage across Javert's middle. “All done.”

“Hm.”

As Valjean started to pull away, Javert placed his hand over Valjean's, keeping it against him. Valjean sighed and smiled in relief. The soft press of his lips seemed to set the world right in a very simple, unexplainable way. Javert was aware of his own nakedness and the close warmth of Valjean's body. His lips followed Valjean's as the kiss ended, and Javert felt his smile. 

“I am going to visit Cosette. Would you like me to help you dress?”

Javert's lip curled into a snarl of distaste. “I do not need help.”

“I'm sure you could manage but the likelihood of you aggravating your injuries will be much higher. I will help.”

“I am not a child,” he said, even as he positioned himself for Valjean to get the shirt over his head. 

“Am I only allowed to care for children?” Valjean countered, beginning to sound irritated himself. “Anyone can be cared for, even grown men. Even you. Caring is part of love. Did you not care for me when I was unable to care for myself? Or was that only duty?”

“I did not dress you-”

“Well then. You are right, I'm sure you can manage the rest yourself. I will see you this afternoon.”

Just like that, Valjean was gone, leaving Javert in stunned silence. 

He remained that way for some time before surprise gave way to anger. Javert formulated his grievances to tell Valjean, but of course Valjean did not return and he had not truly done anything wrong. How infuriating! 

This annoyance at Valjean, and then himself, became guilt. He could not fault Valjean for not being as depraved as himself, he had never imagined Valjean would wish to touch his body as Javert longed for him to do, he should be more than satisfied with that. Why wasn't he?

He had become used to Valjean's company and their routines, he was fearful of losing the one thing of importance in his life, and he was unsure of how to keep it. He felt his body was all he had to give, although it wasn't much, and he couldn't understand why Valjean desired it, but he did, and Javert would try his best to please him. 

Javert decided he really ought to try harder. It did not matter _why_ Valjean returned his feelings, not really. Javert had to accept that Valjean did feel the same if he wanted to keep him by his side, and give him a reason to return to his company. He could not fault Valjean for choosing to spend his time with those who loved and welcomed him, rather than an irritable old inspector. Valjean deserved more than Javert's lust and poor temper, and he should try and do better. 

Javert ate the food he had been left, the taste overridden by bitter guilt, but he ate it. Because Valjean had asked him to and he would not sulk. 

He dressed somewhat awkwardly but he did indeed manage it himself. He brushed his hair, thinking of Valjean doing it instead, and how he always liked to run his fingers through it. The only thing he could not do without assistance was tie his hair, but no matter, no one was likely to see him and perhaps if he was lucky enough, Valjean might tie it when he came back. 

Javert then found himself at a loss of what to do. Perhaps this was why he had become so reliant on Valjean, because he had nothing else? He really ought to get back to work as soon as he was able, but work meant less time with Valjean, and returning to his own apartment, neither of which appealed to him. 

He picked up the book Valjean had read from the previous evening. He would not read beyond where Valjean had stopped, but he skimmed over the first canto, which Valjean had been determined to finish after they had dined the previous night, recalling the soft wonder of Valjean's voice. 

> And peaceful ruminates on bended knee;
> 
> While restless, proud, impetuous, and free,
> 
> Fed in rich pasturage the untutored steed,
> 
> By wild exertions proves his warlike breed.
> 
> Behold his form, his high unbroken pace,
> 
> His active limbs, and animated grace;
> 
> Now in the stream, his frothy sides to lave,
> 
> He shivering plunges, struggling with the wave;
> 
> Spurned by his hoof, as if enraged it foams;
> 
> Then through the spacious fields he bounding roams,
> 
> And giving to the winds his flowing mane,
> 
> Beauteous with love and vigor, scours the plain;
> 
> With smoking nostrils, wild, his eyes on fire,
> 
> Flies to the objects of his fierce desire;

Javert cleared his throat gruffly, even though he had not been reading aloud. He would not think on why that passage had caught his eye, but he certainly was not imagining any wild beast. He flipped a few pages forward.

> Full long has daring. Art usurped the claim
> 
> With bronze and marble meeds to honour fame,
> 
> And well the mighty victor might despise
> 
> Ignoble honours, and a vulgar prize;
> 
> But Nature here her bounteous self exceeds,
> 
> And stamps the tribute due to matchless deeds;
> 
> Great as her schemes, a solemn pledge has given,
> 
> New but eternal as the laws of Heaven.
> 
> To hail the hero see her train appear,
> 
> Crowned with each gift that decks the varied year;

That was… helpful. Valjean, throughout his life had rejected all praise and titles, and to give him any ostentatious gift (even if Javert could afford it) seemed crass. Apparently, nature was its own reward, and could be a permanent, living tribute. He still felt indebted to Valjean from their trip, and all he had been given. He would have to consider this information, and learn a great deal more about plants before he knew of an appropriate gesture he could make.

He snapped the book closed. He needed to be productive. What had Valjean said that morning? That work was required in the garden. To his shame, Javert could not recall what he had said but decided to go outside and see if anything obvious presented itself to him. 

After ten minutes of aimless wandering in the garden and scowling at various plants, he still had no idea of what to do. He supposed they could do with at least being watered, as the day was warm, so he filled a bucket at the pump but realised when he returned to the garden that he had no clue where the watering can might be. 

“G-good afternoon, Inspector,” Toussaint called as she approached, holding the very object he had been looking for. “Do you need this?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” He hadn't spoken to her often, he was no good at conversation, and she, like most other people, seemed reluctant to get too close to him. 

“How are your injuries?”

“Healing slowly, but no worse than they should be. But I am getting restless and thought I ought to do something. Va- Fauchelevent said he had duties to attend to in the garden, but I do not know what they were.”

“Well, you are right to give the plants all a little water - just not too much. The roses could always do with deadheading. You can do that with one hand.”

Javert frowned. “Deadheading?”

“Pinching the dead flowers off the bush,” she demonstrated, pulling a wilted bud from the plant. “This way it will encourage the next lot of flowers to grow and we’ll be sure to get a second bloom in a few months.”

“I see. Thank you, Toussaint.”

“You are welcome, Inspector. Would you like me to prepare your lunch for when you wish to take a break?”

“Ah, thank you. That is very kind.”

And so Javert spent his time tending to Valjean's garden, thinking that he ought to apologise to Valjean, listen to him talk of Cosette and settle in bed that evening to hear him recite more of the poem. That was all he wanted. He might kiss Valjean before he left to sleep in the house, but that was all. 

He stopped when a butterfly landed on a rose bloom near his hand. He watched the slow opening and closing of its wings for a moment before it took flight again and he continued his work. 

“Javert!”

Javert flinched as he turned too quickly but seeing Valjean's smile and his raised brows was worth it. 

“I was not expecting you back so soon. I am just… deadheading these roses.”

Valjean stood beside him, placing a hand against Javert's lower back, which radiated an impossible amount of warmth through his body. 

“I see. And you are doing a fine job of it too!”

It was absurd to feel such pride in such a simple task, but Valjean smiled at him again and Javert felt it swell within his chest. 

“Ah, how is your daughter?”

Valjean blinked in surprise and Javert was suitably ashamed that Valjean never expected him to ask such a question. 

“She is well. I could tell you about it if you would like to join me for a cup of tea?”

A dilemma, Javert ought to finish the task he had started (especially if Valjean was pleased with it), but he did not want to appear disinterested. 

“I would like to, but I must finish first.”

“The roses can wait,” Valjean said, taking his hand.

“Well, Toussaint did say she would prepare lunch…”

“Very well, let us go to the house and I can tell you about Cosette.”

Javert merely nodded, pleased that he had done something right, and followed Valjean to the kitchen. 

As they ate, Javert made sure to pay attention to what Valjean told him. Cosette was very well, Marius was flustered, and she was indeed wearing more flowing dresses which might be why Valjean had not noticed the slight swell of her stomach. Javert could tell he still felt guilty about not noticing sooner.

“I'm sure she prefers that you didn't know. She wanted to tell you at the right moment.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Valjean said with a relieved smile. 

“Besides, she must only be four or five months along, I don't imagine that's particularly noticeable. You worry too much over things that do not matter now that you have nothing to truly worry about.”

“Ah. Yes,” Valjean said, not looking convinced. 

“You have cause for concern? Be truthful to me,” he added, recognising Valjean's fear as a good reason for him to lie. 

“It is only the girl, Azelma. I think she knows of my past…”

“I had considered the possibility. But your daughter’s home is the best place for her. They know the truth of you too and she will be well cared for. There should be no reason for her to go to the police. I imagine she has a distaste for the Force anyway.”

“Hm.”

“Valjean. _I_ am the police. You should not worry.”

“That is _why_ I worry. I do not want to get you into trouble. And what if she doesn't go to the police, but associates of her father instead?”

“Thénardier had few friends left by the end. If she knows what's good for her she'll stay in Pontmercy’s hospitality.”

“Yes. I think you are right. Thank you.”

When the table had been cleared, they went back outside and Javert made his way to the roses.

“Javert?” Valjean called after him, making him turn back. “Won't you come to the hut?”

“Oh, well… The roses…”

“The roses can wait.”

Valjean looked so expectant, and somewhat unsure; Javert would never refuse him anyway. He nodded and followed Valjean to the small building. As soon as they were inside, Javert's back hit the door as Valjean embraced him. He looked up, his head against Javert's chest, and smiled. A coldhearted criminal could never possess such an expression, nor could he recite poetry so sweetly. Not for the first time, Javert was humbled and ashamed. 

“What was that for?”

“I am only glad to have you here with me,” Valjean murmured. “I confess, I was concerned I had offended you this morning…”

Javert shook his head sharply. “It was well deserved, I was being stubborn and behaving unkindly.” He held Valjean by the shoulders and pushed him back. “I am sorry. I ought to treat you better. You deserve more than this.” _More than me._

“No-”

“I respect you Valjean! More than anyone else, yet I did not treat you with respect… I would never speak in such a way to a superior so I should not speak that way to you.”

“But I am not your superior, Javert. We are equals. Surely you see that now more than ever. Just a man, who has sorrows and joys and… desires. It was all I ever wanted, to be a man like any other. Not a saint, never a saint.”

“I suppose I see that now, but you are certainly not ‘just’ a man. You are… remarkable.”

Valjean was no good at accepting compliments. He shifted his feet and cleared his throat. 

“As are you. And I forgive you for this morning.”

“Forgiveness is not that easy!” Javert said, throwing his hands up. “You forgive me far too much.”

“It is easier because you are dear to me, and you are sorry. There doesn't need to be any more about it.”

Javert's frown did not lift and Valjean attempted to smooth the creases under his fringe with his thumb. 

“Come and sit with me.”

Valjean took him by the arm and walked to the bed, sitting himself on the edge of it. Javert hesitated. 

“What is it? Is it about this morning? It is true that I perhaps mollycoddle too much, and that isn't an appropriate way to treat you, but I am only used to caring for Cosette and-”

“No. No it is not that. I- I do not mind that. I was only- Could you tie my hair? I could not do it myself.”

“Oh. I see,” Valjean said, a fluster of embarrassment coming over him. “Of course. But you will still need to sit down for that.”

Javert sat, straight and rigid beside Valjean. He relaxed when Valjean's fingers moved through his locks, but turned to him with a frown when, after some moments, his hair was not being tied. 

“Ah,” Valjean flushed. “I only thought that I might kiss you first.”

“Then you should.” Yet Javert couldn't bring himself to move, Valjean must do this himself and take what he wanted. 

Valjean's lips met his own, so delightfully soft and warm, but it was not long before Valjean pulled away. 

“Javert… ?”

“Hm?”

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” Javert replied because truly, what could possibly be wrong? He leaned closer. Nothing could be wrong when Valjean was here with him like this. 

“But why… You are not kissing me the same.”

“I was allowing you to do what you wish.”

“What if I wish you to kiss me like you normally do?”

Javert seized him by the waist, his tongue pushing into Valjean's mouth. Valjean hummed pleasantly, his hands bunching in Javert's hair. 

“And… perhaps… more than kiss… ?” Valjean whispered once he had been released. 

Javert kissed him again, but more briefly this time. 

“I am always glad to touch you. To be touched by you.”

“A-as am I,” Valjean stuttered as Javert pulled on his cravat to loosen it, and pressed his mouth to his neck. 

Valjean held him close, cradling the back of his head, so tender and gentle it was almost unbearable. No one had treated him with tenderness before Valjean. He could not recall his mother and how she might have treated him, but as a boy he had been viewed as a rat - dark and ugly, a pest and a disease, to be looked down on with a curl of a lip. He could not imagine she would have been pleased to bring such a creature into the world. 

He did not feel ugly with Valjean treating him this way. Valjean had never been afraid of his appearance, only his occupation. He wondered if Valjean would allow him to repay him in the way he wished. 

Javert slid to the floor and Valjean immediately leaned forward, following his direction of movement to not have any more distance between them. 

“Javert?”

He did not look up to see the confusion that would be plain on Valjean's face. He stroked the top of Valjean's thigh, the muscle firm under his palm. He rested his forehead against Valjean's stomach for a moment, Valjean's wide hands cradling his head, before Javert dropped lower, pressing his lips against the shape of his cock. 

Valjean gasped, his hands went to Javert's shoulders, and Javert was certain he would be pushed away. He wasn't. He parted his lips and made more deliberate contact, his mouth curving around Valjean's length. Valjean’s grip tightened. 

“Javert!” He scolded, making Javert retreat to look at him. 

“You know what it is to pray, do you not? To give your devotion to the divine? It is no shame or punishment.”

“You should not- Do not say such things!”

“You think it blasphemous? Perhaps. But… being with you is… the closest thing to holiness I have ever felt.”

Valjean's hands moved to his jaw, tilting his head to kiss his brow. 

“I want to do this, Valjean,” he said quietly. 

Valjean's grip relaxed, his hands returning to rest lightly on Javert's shoulders, and his eyes fell closed in what seemed like resignation. Javert was determined to please him and have Valjean forget any anxieties he might harbour. 

“I will begin,” Javert said, as Valjean's eyes did not open again. 

Javert moved his gaze downward and focused on unfastening Valjean's trousers. He fumbled a few times, only being able to use one hand, but Valjean did not assist him. He remained frozen in place and Javert could not help but feel bitter sorrow and frustration that Valjean was always _afraid_. Maybe not of him, but of anything outside of the parameters he had set to protect himself. 

Valjean gasped when Javert finally pulled him free. He was only just beginning to stiffen but Javert would not be disappointed, he saw it as a challenge. 

He repeated what he had done previously - an open-mouthed press of lips against his shaft. He felt Valjean's thighs tremble beneath his hands and he moved up to close his lips around the head. Valjean's hands clutched at his hair the moment he did so, and Javert experimentally pressed his tongue up against it. 

A helpless noise escaped Valjean, and Javert pushed forward, sliding more of him into his mouth. How had he known he would enjoy this? What made him desire to be on his knees for Valjean when he had never tasted him before? Javert had been hard as soon as he pressed his mouth to Valjean's trousers. 

He pulled back, savouring the hot, smooth length of Valjean slowly gliding over his tongue, until he slipped from him completely, wet and satisfyingly rigid. Javert wiped the saliva from his mouth. 

“It is good.” Javert wasn't sure if that was a question to Valjean or a statement of how he was feeling. 

“Very good,” Valjean murmured on a quiet breath, trembling hands gently stroking the top of Javert's head. 

It was almost as if those words had touched his cock from the thrill of pleasure they sent through him. He ought to be disgusted with how deeply he was affected by Valjean's praise, but he was only aroused. He took him into his mouth again, stroking with his tongue. 

Javert moaned around him and felt Valjean's pleasure in the twitch the vibration caused. Javert pressed the heel of his hand against his own cock, desperate and neglected, sealed away in his trousers. He groaned again, feeling Valjean's body jerk and hands twisting carefully in his hair - always so careful, even in this - hearing Valjean's panting breaths… It all contributed to his own pleasure. He groaned, reluctant to pull away, and released Valjean to inhale a greedy breath. 

Valjean cupped his chin with shaking fingers, tilting his head up. “You… enjoy this?”

“ _Yes_.” Javert closed his eyes and turned his head away but did not move from the contact. “How I've wanted-” He cut himself off. 

“I enjoy this too,” Valjean whispered, as if there was anyone else to hear them. “But I enjoy it much more knowing it pleases you also.”

Javert pressed his forehead against Valjean's stomach. “It does. Let me. Let me do this. I would make you feel- feel good, Valjean. Because of me.”

“You do already,” Valjean stroked his hair. “You've given me a great many good things, my friend. Let us… share this also. Yes, please do that again Javert- _ah!_ ”

Javert didn't need telling twice. He licked up Valjean's shaft, feeling the vein, feeling Valjean's thighs tremble. He stopped before he took Valjean into his mouth again. 

“You should not worry-” Javert bit his lip, staring with absolute focus at the glistening head. “I would have you finish this way. I do not mind. Please, do not be afraid.”

“But, Javert-”

“It will please me also. You will do me no dishonour. You told me there is no shame between us, that this is no sin. Do not stop yourself. I want to please you. To have you completely-”

“Javert.” Javert's heart sunk as Valjean lifted his head again and pressed him to his broad, heaving chest. “You please me. I have never known such pleasure-”

“I will give you more,” Javert muttered gruffly. “Let me give you more.” He could feel Valjean's fingers trembling against him and his heart softened. “Do not be afraid to take what is freely given. There is no consequence of accepting if it is something you want.”

Valjean kissed him, messy and bolder than he had ever been before, his tongue pushing against Javert's almost aggressively. Thankfully the pitiful noise he made was muffed by Valjean's mouth but he could feel his body quivering in Valjean's powerful arms. Javert had to push himself away before he embarrassed himself.

“ _Let me,_ ” he growled, dropping back down and guiding Valjean's cock into his mouth once more. 

Valjean's hips twitched upward, welcoming the heat and pleasure of Javert's mouth, so Javert took more, as much as was comfortable. He waited a moment, listening to Valjean pant, before moving back until he almost released him, and pushed forward again. He settled into a rhythm, his pulse thrumming wildly, the helpless, tiny forward rock of his own hips as he pushed forward almost unbearable. 

He whined when the first taste of salt trickled onto his tongue. Valjean's leg pressed against his back, holding him, keeping him in place. Javert's hands moved up to Valjean's hips as he began tentatively thrusting into Javert's mouth, not to stop him, Javert would never wish to stop this, only as a precaution in case Valjean's control slipped. 

“Ja-Javert- I don't- You shouldn't-”

Javert only growled, conveying the opinion that he absolutely _would_ , and the vibration of it caused Valjean's body to tense and his breath hitch. 

Hot, bitter fluid hit the back of his throat and Javert resisted the urge to cough, gulping it down instead. He remained until Valjean was spent and trembling. Javert finally released him from his mouth, and looked up. 

Valjean had the side of his hand against his mouth, and Javert thought he must have been biting down on it. He reached up to pull his arm down and Valjean's eyes fluttered open. 

They looked at each other for a moment, Valjean's lips slack and wet, eyes hazy. Javert felt fevered from lust, his cheeks burned, the taste of Valjean was fixed to his tongue. He could not speak. What a sight he must be, panting at Valjean's feet. 

“Come here,” Valjean whispered. 

Javert didn't move, for fear of embarrassing himself by spilling in his trousers, but he didn't wish to disobey Valjean. He did not have to make a decision - Valjean joined him on the floor and pulled him close. One arm was against Javert's back, and his other hand worked on his buttons. 

Javert was already leaking, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his cheek against Valjean's hair. As soon as Valjean's fingers curled around him, Javert was wracked with pleasure. It only took a few irregular upward thrusts before Javert spent, an intense burst of sensation and emotion that was almost terrifying. He had Valjean to ground him, to stay with him as he rode out the pleasure, and he would still be there when Javert came to his senses. 

He leaned heavily against Valjean's chest as the sparks fizzled out and gave way to a calm that Javert had never known any other way. A deep satisfaction and contentment that left his body warm and his mind clear. The hand that had been resting against his back began to toy with his hair and he grunted softly in approval. 

He could never have conceived, all those nights he had taken himself in hand, how much better the very same act could be in the hands of another. The hands of Valjean, for Javert desired no other hands on his body, only those wide, rough palms and thick, calloused fingers. 

Valjean shifted before getting to his feet, sliding his arms around Javert's chest to haul him up at the same time. Javert staggered and had to support himself against Valjean's shoulder, not because the blood had rushed to his head, but that Valjean had used some of that impossible strength on him. Javert had felt it, that Valjean could have easily lifted him off his feet if he had wanted to. 

Valjean guided him to the bed, probably thinking him light-headed, and sat beside him. Javert moved to make himself decent again but thought better of it. He kicked his trousers off instead, and looked to Valjean in a silent question. 

Valjean ducked his head shyly, and looked back up with a coy smile before he followed Javert's example. Javert stroked Valjean's bare thigh, and his hand slid around and up to feel those fine buttocks before Valjean sat back down. There was beauty in his strength, in his resilience, his grace. Javert could not articulate this so he attempting to convey it with action instead, running his hands reverently over firm muscle, kissing the discoloured band of skin around his neck. 

Valjean allowed him to roam as he pleased, soft noises falling from his lips.

“Javert. You must stop. You have given me too much.”

“That is impossible,” Javert muttered but stopped anyway in case Valjean became overwhelmed.

Valjean rubbed light, lazy circles over Javert's leg as he leaned against him. 

“Would you like me to continue with the poem?”

Javert startled, grabbing for his trousers. “The roses!”

Valjean chuckled, a warm, deep, rich sound, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him back down.

“The roses will _wait_ , my dear.”

Javert stared at him, roses forgotten, and Valjean raised his brows in confusion before he coloured, realising what he had said. 

“Oh, um, forgive me. Of course you do not want to be called that-”

Javert kissed him. “I think… You may call me whatever you wish.”

“Well then, would you like me to read?”

“Yes.”

Valjean opened the book at the second canto, and began. Javert closed his eyes to listen and only opened them again when Valjean touched his brow. 

> ”Mark that fair forehead, mind’s expressive scene,
> 
> Now deep in thought, now ruffled, now serene;
> 
> By happy contrast seeming still more fair,
> 
> Adorned, and shaded by clustering hair.”

His fingers brushed the hair against Javert’s forehead with a smile, before running his thumb over an eyebrow with the next line. 

> “The vivid eye emitting rays of light,
> 
> While the dark brows protect the tender sight.
> 
> The pulpy lip with coral tincture bright-”

Valjean's fingers stroked down his cheek, moving across to his lips. Javert's breath caught and Valjean rolled the edge of the lower lip forward slightly to reveal the pink inside.

> “To ivory lending more resplendent white;
> 
> While each fresh blooming cheek more roundness shrews-”

Valjean settled the book on his lap, and used his other hand to cup Javert's cheek. Javert fought the urge to take Valjean's thumb that still rested against his lips into his mouth. 

> “Divided by the fair proportioned nose.”

Javert snorted at that, his nose wasn't “fair” in the slightest. It was large and slightly crooked, but Valjean's fingers stroked down the bridge of it anyway, as if it was something to be admired. 

> “The foot, the hand, the fingers’ varying length,
> 
> Woman’s soft form, and man’s more sinewy strength.”

“Are you certain this is about plants?” Javert said, which unfortunately made Valjean remove his hand from his mouth. 

“Yes. Were you not listening to the part before this? That we should cultivate gardens with the variation that the Lord created in people. And it is true that there is beauty in diversity.”

He put his hand beside Javert's, demonstrating the vast differences between them, the contrast of Javert's brown skin and long, slender fingers against Valjean's paler, shorter ones. He took his hand in his own and pressed a kiss to Javert's knuckles. 

The other hand left Javert's cheek to pick up the book again and he continued reading. The topic changed to melancholy and grief, gardens in which the sorrowful and downtrodden may find solace. Javert would not have cared for it but it resonated with Valjean, and Javert imagined a broken man in rags, turned away by all, who huddled beneath a tree when he could go no further, where the birds would not judge him for his tears or his circumstances. 

Valjean had said he could not remember his family or his youth with any clarity, but Javert thought his affinity with and understanding of nature kept him rooted as a humble, country soul. He had been born among God’s fertile lands, reared in sunlight, innocent, without any concerns beyon the need for basic sustenance. 

Javert had been born in the dark and the damp. Metal bars and stone walls. His concerns had been of personal betterment, caring for nothing and no one. 

Javert understood nothing of gardens, but Valjean had shown him how to love them, to find a kind of peace there. Valjean had shown him many things. He had shown him how to live. _Truly_ live. 

> “So to teach the sap through new canals to glide,
> 
> And by new unions fertilize your field.
> 
> Try too, when joined, what virgin juices yield.
> 
> Let them, encouraged, mutual gifts exchange;
> 
> With nice experiments through Nature range.”

“You are certain it is still about plants?” Javert asked, smirking at Valjean's pink face. 

“Yes!”

Javert hummed, unconvinced, and Valjean nudged him with his shoulder. 

“You're putting me off. Let me finish this canto.”

There were no further interruptions, and once Valjean had finished, he pulled on his trousers and helped Javert dress. 

“Now you may finish the roses,” he smiled. “Oh, but forgive me, I have not done what you asked! Sit, sit, and I will tie your hair.”

Valjean gathered the hair together with his usual care and reverence before he tied it, and then they went into the garden together. To Javert, this garden at Rue Plumet was better than any that had been mentioned in verse. It had kept Valjean safe and Valjean had invited him into its protection. Valjean had shared his past, his knowledge and his body on these grounds, each of these gentle, trembling secrets unfurling a new fresh bud of emotion in Javert to flower. 

Javert continued deadheading the last rose bush while Valjean pruned some of the other plants. He was content, and he would never forget how fortunate he was to be so. 

“Monsieur!” Toussaint called. “There is a policeman here for the Inspector.”

Javert cursed as his thumb slipped and caught on a thorn, a speck of blood fouling the delicate pink petal beneath his hand. How could someone know that he was here? He thought he had been careful, but now he had endangered Valjean, as surely his colleague must assume Javert was with ‘Fauchelevent’. 

Valjean had not replied to Toussaint, he was deathly pale, staring at his shears with unseeing eyes. 

“I will be there momentarily,” Javert called instead. “Valjean,” he murmured as he approached. “You ought to go back inside. I won't be long.”

Valjean gave him a distracted nod, and walked towards the hut as if in a trance. Javert hoped that Valjean would still be there when he returned. He readied himself as he approached the house, all irritated indignation and righteous fury in the knowledge that he, Javert, was right in his protection of Valjean.

“What is so important that I must be disturbed here, at a private residence that I had not informed anyone of?” Javert said as he strode into the lounge.

“Sorry, Sir,” Rivette muttered, hands behind his back and head bowed.

Javert was relieved that it was only Rivette, who had become his closest colleague. The situation was still suspicious but ruled out the possibility of there being an immediate threat. He shook his head. He should never view a fellow officer of the law as a threat!

“Speak, man! What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry to disturb you when you're off duty, Sir, but I thought you'd like to know…”

“Know _what_?”

“A young man has been enquiring about the convict Jean Valjean. Say they found out he was an old relative and wanted to know about him.”

Javert narrowed his eyes, but his heart was racing.

“So?”

Rivette looked at him and Javert knew that he was far too competent as a policeman for his own good. He certainly knew _something_ of what Javert was hiding, but how much?

“Well, you're the one who dealt with all those cases. Thought you'd want to know the name was circulating the office again.”

“I can't see how this is so vitally important that you would stalk me to this residence. The man is dead.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose it’s not.”

Rivette did not break eye contact and Javert realised he was giving him a warning. But why?

“He left an address to send a message to but no name.”

Javert held his tongue, it would be suspicious to ask for the address. 

“I came to ask…” Rivette continued. “If you wished to interview him together, I imagine you are quite restless here.”

“Yes… That would be a relief, but why does he require an interview?”

“I've already scoped the place out. Seems to me only an old woman lives there.”

“He didn't want to give his actual address so has instructed this woman to deliver any message to him. Suspicious.”

“Just what I thought, Sir. I left a message to meet at a café tomorrow at noon.”

“Very good,” Javert nodded. 

“I will… come and collect you?”

“If you so wish,” Javert growled. “Tell me, how did you know of this address?”

“I asked the driver that Monsieur Fauchelevent used to take you from the hospital. In case I needed to contact you.”

“If you needed to contact me you should have sent a letter to my residence. Monsieur Fauchelevent checks regularly and will give them to me.”

On their return from the hospital, Valjean ought to have taken a fiacre to Rue de Babylone and taken Javert through the secret back entrance. Valjean's worry for Javert had made him vulnerable, and now his location had been discovered. 

“You are right. Forgive me,” Rivette said with a slight bow. 

“You should be on patrol, Rivette. Do not shirk your duties. I will see you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Javert led him directly out to the street to be certain he did not snoop around the property, leaving him without a further goodbye. He went immediately back to the hut as fast as he could, his side aching with the exertion. 

He threw the door of the hut open with too much force and immediately regretted it. Valjean did not need to be startled further. 

“Valjean? It was Rivette. He's gone now.”

Javert frowned at the empty room and then he heard Valjean sigh and his legs appeared, stretched out on the floor in the small gap between the dresser and the wall. Javert made his way over and found Valjean sat on the floor in the small, dark corner. He looked up at Javert with wide, wild eyes and appeared to be attempting to regulate his breathing. 

Javert crouched down in front of him, and offered his hand to draw him into the light. 

“You are safe.” _For now, at least._

Valjean made a choked noise, grasping Javert’s arm and pulling himself forward, pressing his face against his neck. Valjean held him in a firm embrace and they sat on the floor in silence until Valjean's breathing evened out. 

“I did not mind before…” Valjean whispered. “But now I have so much to lose. I do not deserve it, but I do not want to lose it.”

Javert pushed him away but kept his hands on his shoulders. 

“You deserve it. And you will keep it,” he growled through his teeth. “I will do everything I can to make sure of it.”


	15. Chapter 15

Javert had told him everything Rivette said, and that he could not say how much Rivette had guessed about them but he meant no ill will. He had come to warn them. This eased Valjean a little but not enough. He remained within touching distance of Javert throughout the day and when the evening grew late, he remained with Javert, holding him close as they settled in bed together. Javert did not remark on this behaviour. 

They had hardly spoken that day, Javert's mind was likely turning over all of the possibilities just as Valjean's was, and neither of them wished to voice their worries. Valjean could not sleep for worrying, but it wasn't long before Javert's breath deepened and his body relaxed under Valjean's arm. 

He would never have thought that his touch would appease Javert - that Javert desired his touch in all kinds of ways, for pleasure, for comfort, even reassurance. Even in his sleep, Javert relaxed beside him. 

Valjean loved him, painfully so. He should feel only joy at Javert's warmth against him, but instead there was only the fear that this might be taken away from them. It was a peculiar reversal of when Valjean had gone to the trial in Arras, when he had been travelling towards his doom and every sign and temptation to turn back had been laid before him. Now he was in reach of happiness, of contentment, and wherever he turned a spectre loomed, goading him to turn and flee. 

He pressed his lips to Javert's shoulder in a silent promise. Valjean would not run and leave him behind. 

He spent those hours in the dark remembering all the joy he had experienced. Of the first delighted smile Cosette had given him, how readily she trusted him, and how she liked to hold her tiny hand in his. When she would visit him after her classes at the convent and she sang for him. Everytime she kissed him on the cheek to say goodnight. 

He thought of the man Javert had become, still ferocious and tenacious at times, but petulant and awkward too. Devoted and dedicated always. He stumbled through life just the same as Valjean, uncertain and hesitant when navigating new waters, but they guided one another. Javert had shown him great friendship and miraculous love. 

Valjean shed silent tears that night, but they were only from joy and gratitude as he sent his thanks to God for all the blessings he had received. 

\-----

“You did not sleep.”

It was the first thing Javert said to him when his eyes found Valjean. 

“I could not. But it was a comfort to have you beside me.”

Javert snorted. “I would never have thought someone would say such a thing to me.”

For the first time in a long time, the silence stretched uncomfortably. 

“Well,” Javert struggled to sit up and Valjean assisted him. “I suppose I ought to get ready.”

“Of course.”

Valjean fussed over dressing Javert, straightening his collar, smoothing out the creases of his shirt, and retying his cravat five times before securing the pin. 

“Will you have breakfast?” 

Javert had planned to meet Rivette before their appointment to discuss their tactics but Valjean was reluctant to let him leave so early. 

“I should not delay any further,” Javert said with plain reluctance. “I must be waiting on the street when Rivette arrives to avoid him coming into the house again.”

Valjean nodded, eyes fixed on the shining silver star on Javert’s cravat. 

“I will return as soon as I can.”

Valjean's eyes fell closed and Javert placed a kiss to the top of his head. Valjean could not reciprocate, or even embrace him, for fear he would not let him leave. 

He remained in voluntary blindness long after the door had closed. A deathly silence filled the hut, not a bird could be heard outside. 

_Whatever happens, Javert will come back. You must stay._

He opened his eyes to a space that was gloomy in its emptiness. This must be how Cosette had viewed it for all those years - a sad, lonely, tragic place. 

He could not leave, for fear of being spotted. He dared not even risk moving from the hut to the house to have Toussaint’s company. 

He gazed out of the window but soon abandoned that when the lines between the panes became the bars of a cell in his mind’s eye. He sought sanctuary in the bedroom instead, on his humble mattress that he would not have been afforded in prison. Javert’s scent still lingered on the pillow and Valjean closed his eyes and breathed deeply, imagining Javert slept beside him still. 

\-----

Thankfully, Valjean had heard Javert's approaching steps and had already jumped up in anticipation, so the slamming of the door did not give him a fright. Javert had a habit of being tough with his surroundings when he was angry or frustrated - it did not bode well today. 

Indeed, Javert's expression was nearly animalistic in its fury, an ugly snarl creased his face, and his thick brows heavy over dark, wild eyes. Valjean could not repress the shudder that flew up his spine. He had not seen Javert look such a way in many months. 

The instant Javert looked at him, his face fell into an unhappy grimace, and he dipped his head in guilt for his brash and aggressive entrance. Javert always felt emotions strongly, he would fly into annoyed rants and aggressive rages (although they were a less common now), but he could also be so clumsy in embarrassment, and so intensely roused by their intimacy. Valjean would not neuter his rages and lose his passion. 

Javert huffed a frustrated exhale. “There is no need for concern. It was _Pontmercy_.”

“Marius?” Valjean said, frowning in confusion. 

“Yes. When I laid eyes on him I very nearly struck him across the face.”

“But why would he do such a thing?” Valjean asked, but even without an answer he had begun to relax. He moved to help Javert out of his coat, but Javert waved him off. 

“Apparently he made you his personal project. He's been collecting records of your past.”

“Why? Does he not believe-?”

Javert shook his head. “He believed you. We will go and speak to him and your daughter so they can explain themselves.”

Javert made no comment that Valjean was already dressed to leave the house. He merely nodded, made on about-turn back outside and Valjean followed at his heels. 

They had to walk down the street for some distance before there was a fiacre for Javert to hail, and Valjean had to jog to keep up with his long, impatient strides. 

“I do not understand,” Valjean said once they were sitting beside one another and the carriage began to move. “Please tell me _something_ of what was said.”

“Pontmercy said he was acting on behalf of a client: this supposed ‘relative’ of Jean Valjean. A lie, of course. We can hope Rivette believed him but I suspect he has already connected too many dots to be duped in such a way.”

“But if Marius wished to know more about my past, why did he not ask us?”

“That is exactly what we are going to ask of him,” Javert growled. 

Of course, Javert would not have been able to question Marius as he wished to with Rivette in their company. 

For the rest of their journey, Valjean wondered how severe Javert’s wrath would be and if he should defend Marius from the worst of it. He reasoned that Javert was just above all else, and whatever he would subject Marius to would be within reason. 

Valjean would not relish Marius’ discomfort, as that would be cruel. Perhaps Javert would be entertained by such a thought but remembering how much the boy had been through the previous year, how hard he tried to make amends, and how good he was to Cosette, sobered him. He knew if he told Javert such things it would not soften the lecture Javert was about to give. 

When they arrived at Rue des Filles du Calvaire, Javert pounded on the door as if he were leading a police raid. The door opened to reveal a very irate maid, who took one look at Javert and rolled her eyes. Evidently she did not appreciate the dramatics Javert brought to the Gillernormand-Pontmercy household. 

“Inspector,” Marius said, appearing in the hall before anyone else could speak. “And Father, do come in.”

The maid did not voice her obvious disapproval, only glared at Javert’s bandaged hand as she stepped aside. A look that told it not to bleed over the floors again. Valjean gave her a nod of thanks and apology as he entered, but he wasn't sure it did much good. 

Javert was on Marius’ heels almost literally, looming behind him almost as if Marius’ own shadow could haunt him. Valjean was glad he no longer had such ire directed at him. Javert did not care for the personal space of others, which was effective in intimidation, but it was no longer the case when he was close to Valjean. 

“Could I get either of you a drink?” Marius asked as they entered the lounge. 

“I think not,” Javert replied in clipped irritation. 

“Ah, very well. Please, take a seat.”

Javert merely folded his arms and parted his feet in an immovable stance. Valjean stepped past him to take the seat that was offered. He would not contribute to the hostility in the room and sitting was almost safety - hunkering down to protect oneself on the battlefield. 

“Papa! What a pleasant surprise! And the Inspector too.” Seeing Cosette rush into the room, coming through the door like a ray of sunshine across Valjean's life, as always, settled his nerves considerably. 

“You must be careful, Cosette. There is no need to hurry, I am not going anywhere,” Valjean said as she embraced him, settling beside him on the couch. 

“I can never be too sure of that with you. I will keep your company for as long as possible, always.” She looked between Javert and her husband. “Whatever is the matter with the two of you? Marius, you have only just arrived home, sit and I will attend to our guests.”

“I know he has only just arrived, Madame, for his ‘business meeting’ happened to be with me,” Javert said, not taking his eyes from Marius.

“What kind of business are you engaged in? The unpleasant kind, if I were to guess.”

“That is what we are here to get to the bottom of. I am uncertain of your motives, Monsieur Pontmercy. You must explain yourself, completely and in detail, so we can continue to keep your step-father safe.”

“Papa, are you in danger?”

“No-”

“Possibly,” Javert cut in. “Your husband has been astoundingly foolish.”

“Now just a minute, Inspector! I apologise if my actions have caused you some degree of paranoia, but I can assure you, my father is safe.”

“ _Paranoia_ ,” Javert scoffed. “It is more than that, boy. There is a real danger of Jean Valjean being rediscovered by the authorities!”

“I apologise.” Marius turned to Cosette. “My darling, it is nothing that you do not already know. I was merely continuing my discrete inquiries-”

“Discreet!”

“Inspector,” Cosette said coolly. “You have asked my husband to explain himself so please, allow him to do so.”

Javert curled his lip but held his tongue. He stared at Marius in a challenge that said _convince me you are not a fool_. Marius cleared his throat. 

“Well, you see, father has achieved much in his life, and his actions have benefitted many people - everyone in this room included. I only wondered if there was an official record of your past achievements.”

Javert clearly wished to interrupt, but settled for narrowing his eyes. 

“Indeed, there are many records and mentions of Mayor Madeleine in the newspapers of the time. I have been sharing these with Cosette to show how your efforts were appreciated and even celebrated. I only approached the police to see if they could direct me to more details of your arrest and reincarceration. Strictly enquiring about a _deceased_ man.”

Marius paused, expecting some kind of complaint or perhaps not knowing how he should continue. His gaze fell upon Cosette and she gave him a nod of encouragement.

“I did this because… Well, are you aware of how your ‘death’ was reported?”

Valjean shook his head. It hadn't even occurred to him to check at the time, he was too concerned about fulfilling his promise to Fantine. 

All eyes turned to Javert. 

“He fell off the ship Orion rescuing a sailor and drowned, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes, that is a summation of the event itself but… there was more.” Marius focused his attention on Valjean. “The onlookers were so gripped and moved by your daring feat! This convict who had been punished so harshly by society willing risked his life for another without a second thought! Father… they were calling for you to be pardoned as they watched.”

A heavy silence filled the room. It took a moment for Valjean's mind to comprehend the words that had been spoken. 

“... Pardoned. Back then?”

Marius nodded. A dizziness overcame Valjean and a faint feeling of nausea. If he had not jumped into the water, he could have lived all of those years between then and now as a free man? No. Surely not. It could not have been that easy. He could not have taken that chance and left Cosette in the hands of the Thénardiers any longer. 

He became aware of the continuing conversation when Javert spoke. 

“-know. As soon as I read of his death I suppose the rest of the article would have been irrelevant…” 

Javert’s demeanour had changed. He was uncertain and his body was turned away from Valjean in shame and guilt. 

“I doubt that, Inspector,” Cosette said, that same coolness as before lacing her words. “It would have told you then what a good man my father is.”

“That is to say, Madame, that I would have found such information to be irrelevant _then_. It is not an excuse or defence, merely the truth.” He glared at Marius once more. “But that still does not explain why you did not tell either of us sooner.” 

“I know you declined my offer before, father, but we have what I consider to be an irrefutable case. Especially with the Inspector’s cooperation.”

“... Case?” Valjean asked. 

“For your pardon! We wanted to wait to make sure we had everything in place before we told you.”

“Before you _asked_ him, you mean.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“But Papa, why _wouldn't_ you wish to be pardoned? You would not have to hide anymore!”

Valjean's heart was racing, his palms were sweating, the concept was too great to comprehend. 

“Valjean?”

“Papa?” He felt Cosette squeeze his hand. 

“Come, let us get some air.” 

Javert took him by the arm, pulling him to his feet. He led him to the garden and they sat on the back step. The breeze and distant birdsong calmed him. Javert’s hand still rested against the inside of his arm. 

“You were stabbed here.”

“Yes. A price worth paying for Thénardier’s capture.”

“What if you are unable to use your hand again?”

“Still worth it. I am only…” He sighed. “I am only annoyed that you did not get to enjoy the peace and freedom that Thénardier’s capture meant before all of this,” he gestured back towards the house. 

“They mean well,” Valjean murmured. 

“I am sorry. Truly, I did not recall that people had wished to see you pardoned-”

“Hush,” Valjean covered Javert’s hand with his own. “Neither of us expected anyone to have had such a reaction at the time. It is no use dwelling on the past and what might have been, it will not change where we are now. I would not wish to change where we have arrived at. To not have you here with me… It is a bleak thought indeed.”

“Valjean,” Javert sighed. “You cannot seriously suggest such a thing. That my company is more desirable than being free!”

“But it is not merely your company,” Valjean said, pressing their shoulders together. 

“Mn. Still. It is not right. I am not worth so much. But,” he continued before Valjean could argue, “you do not have to choose. You are offered the opportunity of a pardon now and I am not going anywhere. You may have both.”

“But… I am safe as a dead man. _We_ are safe. To reveal myself as living…” he sighed. “I suppose I should try and explain it to them. Let us return.”

Javert helped him to his feet and did not relinquish Valjean's arm as they went back into the house. 

“I am sorry if this has distressed you, Papa,” Cosette said, standing as they entered the room once again. “I can only imagine how sudden and unexpected it is for you, and how you must have worried what Marius’ behaviour meant.”

Valjean nodded and she ushered him back into his seat. Javert sat down too this time and Valjean was grateful for the reduction in tension. 

“I appreciate your confidence in me, and your kindness in pursuing this,” Valjean began. “But presumed dead, I am safe; to do this, I must announce I am living and admit to escaping Toulon and assuming another false identity.”

He focused on his hands knotted together in his lap. 

“If I get rearrested now… I will be there until my death. Of that I am sure. I may not technically be a free man, but despite everything I am… I am truly _happy_.” He felt tears sting his eyes. “I would not risk that for anything.”

“Forgive me,” Marius said. “I did not intend for my inquiries to raise suspicion.”

“I have had enough public attention in my time,” Valjean said with a tight smile. “Whichever way this process ended, I suppose it is a remarkable story. The newspapers will come calling.”

He looked up at Javert, who was sitting forward in his seat, brows drawn in a frown. 

“And even if you are willing to support me in this, Javert’s career is at stake-”

There was an immediate clamour of voices but Javert’s cut through, loud and clear. 

“You should know I would pay that price too.”

“But-”

“No. The life I have lived this year was granted by you, and the… fulfilment I have experienced is also solely down to you. Of course I would support your case, if you wished to be pardoned, although I am not familiar with the process. I would involve Chabouillet, attempt to gain his support and guidance in this.” 

“Ah. Well, I do not know…”

Cosette rested a hand on his wrist. 

“This is not an interrogation, Papa. You do not have to decide now, and you do not have to accept if you wish to remain in the peace you have found.”

Valjean nodded but he did not miss the sadness in Cosette’s expression at the thought he would not wish to be pardoned. Javert’s shoulder pressed against his own before he could dwell on the thought that he might make Cosette unhappy. 

“Valjean, you ought to return home. The cause for concern has passed.”

“But-”

“I still have matters to discuss with Pontmercy.” The look Javert cast Marius’ way was withering but it softened surprisingly fast when he turned back to Valjean. “Quite frankly, you look dreadful. I am not sure if you've been able to have a decent night’s rest since we returned from our trip.”

“He is right, Papa. We would not want you to tax yourself and end up where you were before.”

“Very well,” Valjean sighed in defeat. He did indeed feel exhausted with all of this new information. 

Javert followed him out into the hall as Marius ran to hail a fiacre, but Valjean hung back for a final word with his daughter. 

“Can you convince Javert to take a fiacre back too once he is done here? He should not be doing so much in his condition. He is still healing.”

“I will. Do not worry so. You always worry for others but never for yourself.”

She kissed his cheek and there was a sadness in her eyes again. He did not think a parting word regarding her own health would be appreciated. He returned her kiss and joined Javert by the front door. 

“You will… come back when you are finished here?” Valjean whispered. 

“Of course. Do not stay awake for me. I will be there, I give you my word.”

Valjean squeezed his hand before he stepped out onto the front path. Javert remained silhouetted in the doorway and Valjean kept his eyes on that distinctive shadow, surrounded by warm light, until his view was obscured. 

He did not think of pardons or arrests, he let all that had just transpired wash over him, too tired to hold and examine each thought and consider all of the possibilities. He pictured the faces of Javert, Cosette and Marius instead and thought of how they loved and cared for him. 

His thoughts were on Javert as he entered his home. Javert’s concern warmed him, it was strange to be fearful of capture and yet still feel pleasant emotions despite it. No one had been concerned in this manner before, perhaps even fearful for him, because Javert understood like no one else ever could. It gave Valjean strength. He would not be chased from his home anymore. 

Javert stopped him from fleeing even when Valjean didn't feel strong. Javert _needed_ him. Valjean hadn’t quite allowed himself to believe that but the evidence stacked up before him. Javert became irritable at the very least without his company. It would be incredibly difficult for either of them to live in the seclusion they had done before. 

Indeed, Valjean could not ignore the neediness Javert displayed in their lovemaking. His face heated at the memory of Javert's panting breaths and grasping hands, the noises he could not prevent himself from making… almost pleading for a love he had been denied all his life. 

Valjean had never felt so vital to anyone, not even Cosette, who had the nuns when she was young, and Toussaint after that, and now Marius. 

Valjean groaned at the realisation that just the memory of Javert had roused him. Suddenly he was struck by an epiphany that nearly knocked his breath from him. Javert had confessed his feelings by telling him _I had begun to think of you inappropriately_. It only just dawned on Valjean exactly what Javert had meant by that. 

Javert had thought about them being intimate - _fantasized_ about it - since the end of the previous year. 

This thought only made Valjean's desire persist. What had Javert imagined? Valjean couldn't help his mind from straying, picturing Javert trying to keep quiet and chaste in the dark, whispered pleas of Valjean's name on his lips. 

Valjean squeezed his eyes shut. Javert had needed him even then but Valjean had been too blind and Javert had been too shamed by his passion. He gripped himself through his trousers and gritted his teeth, knowing Javert had fantasized about everything they had done thus far for him to have had a clear idea of it in the first place. 

Had he felt like this? The pressure and frustration building with nowhere to go? Knowing that he _shouldn’t_ but the urge being too much to refuse. No, it would have been far worse, so lonely and bitter too. Valjean thought that would distract his lust but he only thought of how he would tend to Javert instead to make up for the loneliness he would have felt.

He would comb his fingers through his hair, press soft kisses to his face, tell him in the voice of Madeleine that he should relax and be still. How important he was. Javert’s eyes would widen and his throat would bob as he swallowed and he would obey. His body would be warm and pliant under Valjean’s hands and mouth and - oh God- He had never had fantasies such as this. Whenever Valjean had such thoughts, Javert was always there, looking at him with knowing eyes and he would _help_.

He shouldn’t give in. Javert would be disappointed if Valjean’s body could not be roused later. Valjean couldn’t ignore it. Wouldn’t it be worse, more mortifying, to have Javert arrive home and see him stuck in this state? 

He rubbed his hand roughly against his prick seeking some relief but it only made his condition worse. What if someone called on him - Toussaint or Cosette? He must be done with this as quickly as possible. He shut himself in in the bedroom and sat on the bed. 

His decision made, he unbuttoned his trousers and slipped his hand inside, shuddering at the sensation of his own prick in his hand. It did not feel too dissimilar to Javert’s, but the angle was wrong and Valjean began to focus on all the ways it _wasn’t_ Javert. Too thick. It did not curve towards his palm. Valjean grunted, unsatisfied.

Perhaps then he should imagine that it was Javert’s hand on him instead, but no, Valjean knew already that would not work. He lacked the confidence and brashness of Javert’s touch, the possessive, greedy nature of it. Valjean’s hands were too gentle, too hesitant to be pleasurable. How could Javert be pleased by such awkward touches?

_Please. Javert. Show me. Show me what you wish to do to me._

Valjean tugged off his trousers and bunched his hands in his shirt, hesitating, before he took that off as well. He quickly slipped beneath the bedsheet, the fabric brushing over his chest making him quiver with nervous excitement at the novelty of the sensation. 

Javert would put his hands on his chest. He liked to feel Valjean's chest. Valjean's mouth opened for a persistent tongue that wasn't there and his hips rolled up, his prick brushing against the sheet. He bit back a whimper, pushing himself up against the sheet which was forever moving away from him. 

He needed to be quick. He understood why Javert had felt such shame about his lust, doing such a thing himself now, but the thought of Javert touching himself - _thinking of him_ \- set his pulse racing. Yet it was still not enough. Valjean was wound tight, too afraid to find his release without Javert to tell him he could. Without Javert to sigh ‘ _Valjean_ ’, to tell him he was wanted in that moment - Jean Valjean and no one else. 

Valjean groaned, rolling onto his front, shuddering and biting down on the pillow as he ground his hips against the mattress. That was better. Javert could easily be behind him, the ends of his hair lightly brushing Valjean's shoulders. He would lean in close enough for Valjean to feel his breath against his ear and to feel the hot, hard length of his prick rub the inside of his thigh. 

In his fantasy, Valjean had no scars. There was no reason not to have Javert at his back. He was a man like any other, no criminal acts to his name and no saintly ones either, no marks on him except the indentations Javert might leave with his nails and teeth. 

Valjean's whimper caught in his throat. Had that been footsteps outside? No. It couldn't have been. He would have heard them approach the hut-

“-jean?”

Valjean rolled onto his side and threw the sheet over his face. How had his mind been so addled that he had not heard the door open? He face was red enough that he could say he had a fever-

“Valjean?”

“Yes?” Valjean's voice wavered with just that one short word. 

“What is wrong?”

Of course Javert was immediately by the bedside, _concerned_. Valjean's hips wanted to roll forward but he gripped the bedsheet instead. 

“You are unwell?” Javert’s voice was becoming more clipped in what anyone else would identify as annoyance but Valjean knew it to be worry. 

Valjean risked pulling the sheet down enough to look at him. Javert’s eyes widened and Valjean thought perhaps he really might look that sick, but then Javert stumbled backwards and cast his eyes away.

“Forgive me. I was more careful with the door today but perhaps I ought to knock. But tell me what ails you.”

“Ah…” The words got stuck in Valjean's throat. He said he would be honest with Javert. There was no reason to lie. 

Javert had the decency to avert his gaze when he realised Valjean was shirtless and there was no reason he should do that either. They both knew of the marks that were there, Javert cared for him despite his past. 

“Val-”

“ _Tend to me_.” It left his mouth embarrassingly similar to a plea but Valjean forced himself to not look away. 

Javert turned to him. “Yes. Of course. What do you wish me to do? Fetch a doctor? Make you tea?”

Valjean merely reached out his hand for Javert to take, the sheet falling away to reveal more of his chest. Javert’s nostrils flared and his posture snapped straight like a hound that caught the scent of blood. His gaze flicked between Valjean's hand and his face, trying to ascertain if what he thought Valjean meant was correct. 

Javert took his hand and Valjean tugged him forward to try and convey his intent as words had failed him. Javert sat on the edge of the bed in that uncertain way of his that made the length of his limbs obvious and awkward. That made Valjean relax a little, and he reached up to kiss him. 

Javert met him with the urgency and passion Valjean had been trying to imagine, only pulling away to gasp for air. His eyes travelled down from Valjean's face to his chest, and Valjean took Javert's hands in his own and placed them upon his breast. Javert groaned, his gaze fixed on Vajean’s body as he stroked his hands over everywhere he had been denied access to until now. 

Then, Javert dropped his face to Valjean's chest instead, his large hands curled around Valjean’s hips. Valjean did not know what it meant to have Javert laying against him in such a way, other than that Javert enjoyed it, and that was all that mattered. Valjean untied his hair and ran his fingers through it. 

“Valjean,” Javert said, his voice muffled but still clearly roughened by lust. 

“Yes, dear?” 

Javert lifted his head enough to look at him. 

“Before I arrived you were… ?”

“... Thinking of you.” Valjean flushed. “I could not… finish. Not without you.”

Javert looked surprised by this admission, and somewhat proud, before placing a kiss to Valjean's cheek. 

“I am glad for it. But you should not feel guilt or shame pursuing your own pleasure if you need to. I'd still be glad to know that thought of me had brought you pleasure.”

Valjean did not have to struggle to think of a suitable response as Javert’s tongue occupied his mouth once more. The coarse fabric of Javert’s coat against his skin made him shudder and set his nerves alight. 

“I would rather you did it. That you were here,” Valjean panted. “Like this.”

Javert groaned against his neck. “I will help you.”

Valjean nodded and pulled at Javert’s cravat to untie it. Getting him out of his coat and shirt was more difficult when his hands were constantly on Valjean's chest, but they managed. They both froze when Javert's hand rested against his back, touching the scars there. 

Javert leaned forward and kissed a scar at the back of Valjean's shoulder. Valjean trembled, tears springing to his eyes. The last time he could remember someone touching his back it had been with the lash. 

“Valjean?” Javert whispered against his ear, in a voice Valjean would not have recognised as his all those years ago. 

Valjean swallowed and nodded. 

“But there are other places my hand should be, yes?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Valjean choked out. 

Javert pushed him down slowly, and Valjean sighed in relief as his back was hidden from the world once more. Javert’s hands lingered on the sheet at Valjean's hips, but he found no resistance in Valjean's expression or body language. His eyes flashed as he threw the bedsheet to the side, looking every bit the hunter he always had been. Valjean’s heart was racing. He was not afraid. He wanted to be caught, captured and devoured. Only by Javert. 

His knees instinctively bent to hide himself but Javert was transfixed. The wolf domesticated in an instant, placated by the object of his desire as much as he was ravenous for it. He hurriedly fumbled with his trousers. 

“See, Valjean. See what you do to me.”

He pulled his prick free, ever-eager and hard. 

“Yours is the finest body I have ever seen. Let me see it.”

His hands rested on Valjean's knees but he did not force them to part. Valjean did that himself after a moment, slowly and cautiously, and Javert used the space to lean forward and kiss his neck. Valjean's legs relaxed completely at that but Javert pulled back before he could be held close. 

Valjean had to suffer Javert's eyes raking over his body, soaking in the sight of him and committing it to memory. He could not deny Javert this when Valjean had done the very same thing to him. 

“It is good that you hide it. I would not want anyone else to look at you like this.”

His hands became firm and possessive as he kissed him again. 

“I would not want anyone else to.” Valjean said when he was capable of speech. “My body is yours and yours alone.”

Javert groaned, an almost pained sound through gritted teeth. 

“It is yours first and foremost. And you must learn to treat it kindly. Here, hold on.”

Javert rummaged in his coat which had been discarded on the floor. He returned to Valjean with a small bottle in hand. 

“You ought to do it like this,” he said, pulling out the stopper and pouring the contents over his unbound palm. 

“What for? What is it?”

“It is only olive oil. I would have used it before but I have been confined to bed rest unable to retrieve any.”

“And you have taken this from my kitchen?”

“Yes. Now allow me to show you and I can guarantee that you will not protest my raiding of your kitchen cupboards.”

His fist closed around Valjean's prick and slid down with delightful ease. 

“Oh. Oh, _Javert_.”

Javert grinned, all teeth and gums, giving him a few more slow strokes before releasing him. 

“Hold out your hand.”

Valjean did as commanded and Javert poured oil onto his hand. Valjean leaned towards him but Javert shook his head, pushing his hand towards his own prick. 

“I am showing you how you must please yourself.”

“But I wish for you to please me,” Valjean said before he could stop himself. “And for me to please you.”

“I will please you,” Javert murmured against his jaw as he wrapped both of their hands around Valjean's aching prick. “But you must keep doing this as I do, yes?”

Valjean nodded as Javert moved their hands along his shaft. He faltered when Javert let go but tightened his grip when he felt Javert's slick fingers grope his balls. 

Valjean's eyes fluttered open to find Javert staring. _Hungry_. Valjean bit back a groan, pushing himself down against Javert's hand. Then Javert was licking up his neck, his hair tickling Valjean's chest. Valjean turned his head to catch his lips but Javert was kissing his way back down until his tongue flicked over a nipple. 

Valjean tangled the hand that wasn't hesitantly stroking himself in Javert’s hair. He whimpered as Javert licked and nipped and sucked at those small parts of his body that no one, not even himself, had ever paid any attention to before.

“Don't you wish to go faster?” Javert rasped. “No thoughts. Do what your body desires.”

Valjean thrust up into his hand. “I desire you. Please. Javert. I have learnt. But I desire you.”

Suddenly, Javert’s tongue was in his mouth and his hand was on his prick, and Valjean saw stars. His hips jerked up as he spent in sticky streams over their already slick hands. 

He heaved a sigh as his body relaxed, and opened his eyes to see Javert staring back at him with hazy eyes. He stroked Javert’s cheek, feeling him turn into the touch. 

“Come, lie back,” Valjean said gently, once he had regained his senses. 

Javert allowed Valjean's hands to push him back, his need betraying itself in his eyes. 

“I believe I have learnt some other things too…” Valjean whispered before he kissed him, kissing down his chest. 

“No- Valjean-” Javert flinched back as Valjean bent his head below his hips. Valjean looked back up at him. 

“And why not? You have gone to your knees for me.”

“But-”

“It is different? How so? I thought we were in agreement that such an act of love is no sin or shame, so what is the harm of my doing so? Or are you telling me you only performed this act for me to repent for the past and that you feel nothing else?”

“No. You know that is not true,” Javert frowned. “I would never have thought of doing it if I did not… If I did not love you.”

“You see? And why shouldn't I give you the same love if I feel the same way? Because you feel you do not deserve it? Well, love is like mercy - it is freely given and the recipient must decide what to do with it.”

“I would give back all I could in return.”

“I am not ashamed to do this. If you would call me your friend, and for us to be considered equal, I would like for us to be treated equally in this manner also.” Valjean hesitated, sliding his gaze to the bedsheet. “I also wish for you to know this pleasure. It is very good.”

“Well then,” Javert cleared his throat. “You leave little room for argument.”

Yet Javert’s hands locked onto his shoulders as soon as he tried to move down again. 

“You do not have to- I do not expect you to do all I did.”

“I will do what I wish. Do not concern yourself over that.”

Valjean placed a kiss to the pleading head, flicking his tongue out to taste the seed oozing from him. More welled up in its place as Javert writhed under him, and Valjean put his lips around it. A shudder went through Javert and a helpless noise pushed its way out of his throat. 

Valjean carefully slid more of him into his mouth, feeling him twitch against his tongue. Valjean held his hips down as he sucked and Javert gasped a string of expletives in a rough accent of the Parisian gutter. Valjean stroked with his tongue before Javert could concern himself with his societal status. 

Hot, bitter seed flooded his mouth and he gulped it down just as Javert had done. It made sense to him now, why Javert would enjoy it. He had enjoyed it also. The undeniable feeling of Javert’s pleasure, hot and full and twitching against his tongue. Valjean had felt every response to his actions and knew the pleasure Javert had felt. 

Valjean removed himself to look upon Javert - _his love_. Javert was wide eyed and loose, his lips parted. He shook his head. 

“I should not…” His thumb rested against Valjean's lower lip. “You looked like an angel. You should not still look such a way when doing such a thing.”

“Then I suppose it really cannot be a sin and you should not feel guilty about it.”

They laid together, bared to each other, until Valjean fetched the bowl of water to clean them up and review Javert's injuries. 

“Leave the bandages off,” Javert grumbled. “I will not move.”

Valjean placed a kiss to his palm instead. 

“Would you like me to read to you?” Valjean asked, just as reluctant to move himself. 

“Mm.”

Valjean bent to retrieve _Les Jardins, en quatre chants_ , and froze, realising his back was bared. Before he could straighten, Javert pressed himself against him, placing a kiss between his shoulder blades. 

“It is only right that I see this. That I accept this part of you. That I see the reality of my actions. The pain I caused. It is not ugly to me in itself, only what it represents. My own ugliness. The harshness of your life. I will… make it as right as I can. I will repent. I will try.”

“You _are_ ,” Valjean turned and cupped his face, feeling the new growth of Javert’s whiskers. “You are doing very well.”

Javert did not look convinced, but Valjean kissed his forehead and opened the book. He would treasure each of these moments, all of the types of intimacy they shared, knowing how finite it was. Javert leaned against him as he read, tracing lazy circles on his chest. 

> “Well I remember when my soul oppressed
> 
> With care and sorrow robbed my frame of rest,
> 
> Subdued each sense, and tinged by Fancy’s power
> 
> With deeper shades night’s visionary hour;
> 
> When Nature slept, and all around was still,
> 
> Save the low murmurs of a neighbouring ril;
> 
> I heard, and flew the soothing wave to find,
> 
> Enjoyed its freshness, on the bank reclined,
> 
> The lulling melody assuaged my grief,
> 
> And for a moment gave my heart relief.”

Such verses resonated with him deeply, and Javert was attuned enough to realise this. Every passage like that earned him a soft kiss and Valjean was content in the knowledge that such experiences were firmly in his past. Whatever happened now, he was not alone in his soul. 

> “Conceals its huddling course, of sight afraid;
> 
> Now full exposed the lucid waves appear,
> 
> Unheard I see them, or unseen hear;
> 
> The enamoured waters here an isle embrace,
> 
> Then forming separate rills, with eager pace
> 
> Pursue each other, and appear to be
> 
> Rivals in clearness and rapidity;
> 
> Regain their mutual channel, and unite,
> 
> Together flow, and murmur with delight.”

“Still gardens?” Javert grinned, entwining their fingers. 

“Mm. But I believe we have found our mutual channel after much pursuit on your part.”

Javert was silent for the rest of the canto, and when Valjean looked at him as he closed the book, his brow was furrowed. 

“What is it?”

Javert’s frown deepened. “You know you could, if you wanted- I am yours- You can… claim me. I would not mind. In fact, I would… I would want it.”

“Claim?”

“You know,” Javert muttered, looking anywhere but at Valjean, “ah, claiming my body. Physically.”

Valjean's stomach plummeted at the realisation, accompanied by a faintly sick feeling. 

“Javert… I could not. Not that.”

“Yes. Of course. Of course,” Javert said, clipped and tense as he pulled his trousers on. 

“Ja-”

“You know, I think it must be the whore’s blood in me. All this depravity.”

“Javert.” Valjean grabbed hold of his wrist. “I have been in prison. I was there for a very long time. I have heard of such things within those walls. It is no act of love. I could not subject you to that. Not you, mon amour.”

“Oh…” Javert relaxed and Valjean stroked his wrist with his thumb. “Oh God, Valjean!” He winced as he turned too quickly, hurting his side. “You did not- no one there did… anything to you did they?”

“No. No, my dear. But I have heard enough to know I would not do that to you. I could never hurt you.”

Javert nodded, silent and solemn. 

Valjean helped him dress before dressing himself. 

“I will go to the house and ask Toussaint about dinner.”

He kissed Javert before he departed, to keep him in good spirits. 

The breeze refreshed him as he stepped outside, a feeling second only to the intimacy he shared with Javert was feeling the cool air against his skin afterwards. 

“Ah! Monsieur. Should I prepare dinner?”

Valjean rubbed the back of his neck, ashamed that this was all he saw Toussaint for anymore, to make demands of food. 

“Yes, thank you.”

“Is the Inspector able to come to the dining room today?”

This question was unexpected and threw Valjean off balance. 

“Oh, um, perhaps. I will let you know.”

“Monsieur, may I speak with you?”

“Of course!” Valjean smiled as fear tightened around his heart like a vice. Had she arrived at the same conclusion as Rivette? Had Marius asked any questions of her?

She led him into the kitchen and turned to him, but did not meet his eyes. 

“F-forgive me if I cause any offence, Monsieur, but I feel that I must speak frankly.”

“Do go on.” Valjean forced the words from his mouth. 

“You are a good man, Monsieur, more than good, and I mean you no ill will. You deserve every happiness. You should not have to hide in your own home. Or be fearful. The Inspector can keep you company in this house, however you keep company.” She took a breath. “There would be no objections from me if… if you wished the Inspector to live here with you. No one would consider it unusual for two respectable men in their Autumn years to room together.”

Valjean merely blinked, struck stupid by a turn of events he could never have anticipated. 

“I only believe you deserve your happiness, Monsieur. However that may present itself to you is no concern of mine. Do not waste your remaining years away forcing yourselves into loneliness…” She trailed off, fussing aimlessly with pots and utensils.

“Thank you, Toussaint. I will keep that in mind.”

She nodded briskly.

“I… appreciate your honesty and discretion,” he said, hoping that his words were not an admission of guilt, despite all Toussaint had said. “I think we shall dine here this evening.”

“Very good, Monsieur.”

Valjean returned to the hut in a daze, closing the door behind him gently. He stood with his back to it, watching Javert frown at _Les Jardins, en quatre chants_. Valjean imagined walking into his home each day to find Javert like this, looking entirely at home himself.

“What is it?” Javert said, his frown not lifting.

“Javert… how would you feel about living here with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope some of you are still surviving!  
> While you wait for the next chapter I'm also doing a [Valjean drawing project](https://enbyartblog.tumblr.com/post/186287160594/jean-from-faverolles-the-first-in-a-series-of) at the same time :>


	16. Chapter 16

After a few moments of stunned silence, Javert had agreed to Valjean's suggestion. He would never decline, or deny Valjean anything that was in his power to give. Besides, he was practically living at Rue Plumet anyway. 

Javert had spent the rest of the day considering it. Surely having an inspector living here was the most effective deterrent against anyone who might wish to nose around the property. So long as Javert replied to any work correspondence he might receive, no police would come here either. 

If Valjean _did_ wish to be pardoned in the future it might raise suspicion, but Javert hoped his incorruptible reputation would reflect well on Valjean. To have Javert living in his home, he could not possibly be a criminal. 

He would wait until he had recovered before moving in, so he could transport his meagre belongings himself and sort out his affairs. He would return to work and update his address as it happened. It would not be suspicious. He had been caring for Valjean in his ill health, Valjean struggled to live alone and he was helping Javert until he was completely healed. It would make sense to anyone that they would live together. It was entirely practical. 

\-----

Javert returned to work the following week, with much fuss from Valjean. As much as he liked Valjean's company, being idle made him irritable. It would be strictly desk duty, which wasn't appealing, but it was a start. At least his moods would be directed at incompetent colleagues rather than Valjean. 

Indeed, it only took a day and a half of being stuck reading and attempting to write reports before he became restless. Still, the other officers appeared glad to see him, which was a strange occurrence in itself. Much to his surprise, he had been greeted with a cheer on his return. Javert put this down to the acknowledgment of his success in finishing off the Patron Minette, but the good humour towards him continued, despite his complaints regarding disorganisation and laziness. 

Once Rivette caught him frowning at the coffee Dupont had poured him. 

“They missed you, Sir.”

Javert had only grunted in response, unsure of what to do with that information. 

He spent most of his days trying to write, and being frustrated at the result. His hand ached and cramped too quickly, but switching to his left didn't look much neater and felt just as difficult and unnatural. His sentences often ended in an angry blot on the page. 

Rue Plumet wasn't his official home until he moved his belongings at the end of the week, but he still dined and slept there. When he arrived after work, Valjean would examine his ink stained hands and carefully massage the tension from his injured palm. 

Valjean would spend most of Javert’s working hours visiting Cosette. He would always worry over her health but Javert could tell he was excited for the arrival of his grandchild. Javert also knew that the Thénardier girl still made him anxious, but Javert didn't expect her to pose any real threat to their happiness as it would only jeopardize her own. 

Valjean's remaining time was spent preparing the house for them both to live in - particularly the bedroom, which Javert thought had only been used in the week after Valjean took him from the bridge. Javert tried to make it clear that Valjean should not worry, that he would exhaust himself helping Cosette with the garden and arranging the house, but Valjean could be just as stubborn as himself. 

Valjean was happy, and if caring for others provided him such joy, Javert would not discourage him. 

When they were reunited, Javert would tell him about his work - his frustrations, the peculiar behaviour of his colleagues - and Valjean would speak of gardens and Cosette. Their dinner would be humble yet satisfying, and once they were finished they would retire to the hut. Each night Valjean took Javert into his bed and brought him to completion, even when his own body was too tired to be roused. 

Javert had stopped feeling guilt and agitation at that, for if their circumstances were reversed, wouldn't he delight in providing endless pleasure to Valjean whenever he desired it? He contented himself knowing his willingness and unquestionable attraction to him pleased Valjean. He could press grateful kisses to warm skin, rub with sure fingers, be rewarded with the relaxing of Valjean's muscular body, and a soft sigh caressing his cheek. 

Javert had never imagined life could be like this for anyone, least of all himself. Valjean's giving nature - his kindness and love - resumed in the morning, with firm arms Javert did not wish to leave, a nose burying into his neck, a rough beard tickling his skin, and lazy kisses that made each morning very good indeed. 

So good in fact, that sometimes Valjean might have to repeat the ministrations of the night before. Javert would flush and mutter that they must be quick about it as he would not be late to work. Once Valjean had smiled against his jaw, hands calmly working his cock with the surety and confidence he had developed, and murmured ‘ _you are always quick_ ’. 

This did not stop Javert from proving his point, but he refused to speak to him until late that night, after Valjean's unceasing attempts to try and convince him he did not _mind_. As he had put it, Javert's eagerness made him feel wanted and desired, soothed his anxiety and gave him confidence. 

However Javert’s body wished to behave when he awoke, Valjean always helped him dress (Javert still needed help with his cravat most of all), and would brush and tie his hair. All before breakfast, which Valjean wouldn't allow him to leave the house without. 

Javert was content. He had always imagined contentment to be a cousin of laziness, idleness and sloth, but this was not so. He would not be content if he did not have some degree of police work, which had been a kind of home to him for most of his life; if he did not try and learn the ways of the garden to assist Valjean; and their intimacy could not be described as slothful at all. 

The day's activity resulted in restful, regular sleep, from which he awoke refreshed each morning to the handsome face of his friend. The lines that creased Valjean's face no longer carried the weight of unspoken sorrows. They merely showed his age and emphasised his happiness when they deepened with his smiles. 

This particular evening, Javert was listening to Valjean read - another routine that Javert would not part with. They were still reading _Les Jardins_ , but only because Javert insisted Valjean should start over once he had finished (much to Valjean's delight). 

> “When through improvements you conduct a friend,
> 
> You mark what pleases, shun what may offend,
> 
> Reveal the fairest prospects on your way,
> 
> Reserve new beauties for a future day,
> 
> Amuse, entice him with increased surprise,
> 
> Where striking scenes progressively arise,
> 
> Now gratify, and now his hopes excite,
> 
> And oft delay to heighten his delight.
> 
> Improve the hint, what judgement teach you,
> 
> Your own example let your paths pursue.”

Javert kissed his cheek and turned the page for him so he did not have to relinquish his hand. He imagined he would let Valjean get a different book from the Pontmercy library after they reached the end a second time, but he could not imagine another book so pertinent or affecting. 

> “France the symmetrical command obeyed;
> 
> All soon was dazzled by brilliant art,
> 
> No truant trees dared from their line depart,
> 
> But ranged like troops, in disciplined array,
> 
> Cold uniformity usurped the day;
> 
> England at length dispensed a freer taste,
> 
> And France new laws with equal warmth embraced.”

Javert wished to tell Valjean that he had taken that rigid French heart, uprooted it from cold, dry ground, and replanted it in his wild garden, full of light and warmth. That it would not have survived if not for Valjean's careful, patient nurturing. He couldn't find the words, but Valjean squeezed his hand and Javert didn't need to say anything at all. Valjean already knew. 

> “Here pensive Melancholy shuns the day;
> 
> Impressive stillness every spot pervades.
> 
> And Grief and Meditation haunt the shades.
> 
> Here Manto commune with his heart retires,
> 
> And of the future and the past enquires;
> 
> Thinks on the good and ill the Gods bestow,
> 
> Of prosperous guilt, of virtue doomed to woe;
> 
> And oft reverts, and mid the circling hours,
> 
> As blown in desert waste some scattered flowers
> 
> Recals those moments, short alas! But dear,
> 
> Marked by past bliss, now blotted with tear.”

Javert kissed him, closing the book. There would be no more woes and suffering for Valjean, not if he could help it. Javert could not say he _enjoyed_ the poem, which was as prone to melancholy as Valjean, but he appreciated its importance, and enjoyed Valjean's voice. He certainly did not care for the end, which cut a little too close to Valjean’s state of mind when Javert had found him wasting himself away, so he did not mind if they cut it short this time. 

“You have brought me out of that haunted shade,” Valjean whispered against his hair. “You pull me out of alleyways and you kissed me in sunshine, outside, in the street that first time. You are unafraid-”

“I do not think that is true.”

“But your fear does not prevent you from action. You are honest and true, standing determined before God, and you bare yourself for me to see. You wished for me to stand by your side in that light, so you could see me too. See me for who I am. You made love to me during the day.”

“I remember.” Javert said between hot, languid kisses. “More than once.”

“Mon amour…” Valjean murmured into his hair, his voice tight with emotion. “How can this be? Sometimes I feel as if I am in a dream; I am afraid to wake and find you are not here.”

Javert sighed. Why must Valjean always be plagued with worries? He stroked his back as their lips met again. 

“It is not a dream. I do not think your mind could have thought of the things we do unassisted.”

Valjean exhaled a laugh. “I think you are right about that.”

Javert remembered the suggestion Valjean would never have thought of. 

“You ought to know that I did not… I would never ask such a thing of you if I considered it some kind of pain or punishment.”

Valjean tilted his head in a gentle signal for Javert to elaborate. 

“When I said- What I said about claiming me. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable but you should know.”

Valjean was very quiet. _Know what?_ the silence said. Must Valjean know, or was it Javert’s own selfishness again?

“There is no love in the environment of a prison, you are right. But I believe it could be loving if done correctly. Not… abusive. Not painful. I know this.”

There was a brief pause and Javert could see Valjean had latched onto his final words. His face twisted in pained sorrow. He reached over to hold Javert’s hand in both of his. 

“I am sorry-”

“No! You provide enough, more than enough-”

“But you should not have to endanger yourself, or spend money-”

“Money?” Javert suddenly tore his hand from Valjean's grip. “ _Valjean!_ You think that I would… use the services of another? What do you take me for?!”

“But… how do you know what it's like?” Valjean frowned in innocent confusion. 

“I have a hand! I can use my own fingers!” Javert caught his tongue too late and looked away as his face burned. 

“Oh.”

“You think I would be disloyal to you?” Javert grumbled. “Do not suggest such a thing.”

He felt the warm press of Valjean's hand again. 

“Then I am sorry for thinking of it.”

Javert grunted and met his eyes once more. He sighed. 

“But I am not saying you should do it. It is true that you do more than enough for me in this regard, certainly more than I deserve. I only thought you needed to know _what_ I was asking for. Even though it might be the same act… I was not asking for what they do in prison. I would never ask such a thing of you.”

Valjean pressed his lips to the back of Javert’s hand. 

“Thank you. For explaining this to me. I am afraid I still do not understand the appeal, but I am pleased to know that you do not desire the worst.”

Javert nodded and squeezed Valjean's hand. 

“But do not berate yourself for your desires. You cannot help it. I do not think less of you.”

Javert shifted where he sat, wishing to change the topic of conversation but not knowing how. In his desperation to move away from the subject of his lustful mind, he blurted something additionally embarrassing. 

“I would be with you until the end of our days, you know.”

He clamped his mouth shut and stared at their joined hands. Why was it embarrassing? It was only the truth, and he was always honest. But as Valjean had shown him these past few months, he had not always been honest with himself. 

When he looked back up he did not regret speaking those words aloud. Valjean was _beaming_ at him, his eyes wet with joy, and he brought Javert’s hand to his lips again. 

“Thank you, _mon amour_.”

Javert exhaled, feeling too full of emotion to contain the air in his lungs. What had he done to deserve this devotion? To experience Valjean's joy as if it radiated from him?

“Perhaps even beyond that, if God would grant me a place by your side.”

“He will,” Valjean breathed against his hand as Javert moved it to cup his cheek. “I know He will. If I were allowed through the gates of Heaven, it would be no paradise without you.”

Javert was surprised by the hot tears on his own cheeks. He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his dignity. 

“Well, they'd have a challenge keeping me out. Your influence has made me more prone to acts of rebellion.”

Valjean's chuckle was watery but happy. His strong arms circled Javert's waist, holding him against his chest. Javert’s eyes fell closed as he felt Valjean place a kiss to his temple. The wetness of his cheek dried against Valjean's shirt and Valjean's thumb stroked his whiskers in a soothing motion. 

How could it be pleasant to feel so vulnerable? To feel his soul fluttering like an injured bird?

“May I wash your hair?”

Javert grunted an affirmation. It was rather late in the evening to be washing his hair, but if that was what Valjean desired, that was what they would do. 

Valjean prepared a basin of water and Javert sat sideways on a chair so he could lean back and dip his hair into it. The position was not comfortable but it was a small price to pay for the feeling of Valjean's fingers massaging his scalp, and the view of his gentle expression in the candlelight. 

“Was is beginning to look dry?” Javert frowned. It should not look greasy, as he did not frequently use pomades and oils. 

“Perhaps I just wanted to wash it.”

“Then you might make it brittle,” Javert said with no real complaint. 

His eyes fell closed until a delicate scent filled his nose as Valjean tipped water over his scalp. 

“What is that?”

A shy, somewhat embarrassed smile tugged at Valjean's lips. 

“It is rosemary. I boiled it into tea and added it to this water.”

“When did you make the tea?” Javert frowned again, not recalling Valjean boiling the kettle. 

“This afternoon,” Valjean confessed, his cheeks rosy. 

“Ah. Then it is premeditated hair washing. For what purpose?”

“Because I- well, I like your hair, I like to touch it, and I like to care for you-”

“The purpose of the rosemary, Valjean.”

“Oh. Of course. It is said to help give a shine and softness to the hair. And it smells pleasant too, don't you think?”

“People will think I am some kind of perfumed dandy.”

“I do not think anyone would mistake you for a dandy, my dear.” Valjean's hands stilled. “But I can try and wash it out if it embarrasses or displeases you-”

“No. You are right. It smells pleasant.”

If Valjean wished him to smell of rosemary, he would. If it made his hair softer and more pleasant to the touch, Valjean might keep his hands in his hair all day tomorrow. 

When Valjean was finished, Javert sat up for the water to be wrung from his hair. Valjean patted it as dry as best he could as Javert rolled his shoulders and clicked his back, before rising from his chair with a yawn. There was nothing that calmed him to such sleepiness more than Valjean's hands making caring, methodical movements through his hair. Except for the moments after Valjean’s hands and mouth drew all of his pleasure from him, of course, but he was much too tired for such activities. 

Valjean changed them both into their nightshirts and retrieved a brush to sit beside Javert on the bed again and stroke his hair with it. 

“You think it’s handsome.. ?” Javert murmured, recalling when Valjean had first touched his hair and made such a ridiculous statement. No part of Javert had ever been handsome to anyone before. 

“Oh yes,” Valjean said with absolute surety, running his hands over the damp tresses for good measure. 

Javert closed his eyes and hummed. 

“Not only your hair, Javert.”

Javert grunted and tried to blink himself into understanding. “Not what?”

“You are handsome.”

Javert snorted. What was it that was said about love?

“Then it is true. Love… Love cannot… see? No, no...”

“Oh, my dear, you are tired,” Valjean said, his fingers combing the hair back from his temple, his voice as rich and warm as honey. 

Javert only sighed, his eyes falling closed too easily and too reluctant to open. Valjean maneuvered him into bed and Javert was enveloped in warmth, inside and out. He felt a soft press of lips against his nose. 

“Goodnight, Javert.”

He could not pull himself into the state of consciousness required for him to respond, but he managed a feeble squeeze of Valjean's fingers before he slipped down into his dreams. 

\-----

Valjean made his assessment that Javert’s hair did feel softer as he brushed it the next morning. Javert agreed when he ran his own fingers through it. 

It was a slow morning, which were the best kinds of mornings in Javert’s newly formed opinion on the matter. He did not work on Sundays and therefore it was a day to be spent in Valjean’s company. Javert wondered, with some concern, whether moving to the house would change this. They could not spend all morning in bed together if Toussaint was downstairs. 

The looks he subjected her to at breakfast were irritated and somewhat bitter. Toussaint, clearly used to the Inspector’s unsociable ways, did not seem perturbed. 

Today was the day he would move his belongings and never return to his apartment. He had not engaged in sexual intimacy with Valjean that morning and wondered if he had missed his chance. He growled around the bread in his mouth. 

Valjean insisted on accompanying him to the apartment, worrying that Javert might overexert himself, although Javert had a suspicion he intended to clear the remaining rent that was owed. Javert did not argue against his company and he thought it would be useful if there was any heavy lifting required. 

Javert did not have many belongings, everything could be packed neatly and efficiently into one trunk. His clothes and his few law books were the only things of importance, and the books were no longer needed but he had owned them since he joined the police or even before that. He found that he could not part with them. 

He turned his head as he was packing the last of them into the trunk to find Valjean had disappeared. He shook his head in what might have been fond exasperation, knowing that Valjean was pressing a purse into the hands of his landlady, containing far more money than necessary. 

As expected, Valjean tried to sneak back into the room undetected, and gave Javert a sheepish smile once he realised he had been caught. Javert made sure he had completed packing so he could rest a foot on the closed trunk and raise an eyebrow as if Valjean had been absent for an inordinate amount of time. 

“Are you certain that is everything?” Valjean said with a frown. 

“Yes. Now, let us leave before you exhaust all of your funds.”

“Allow me,” Valjean bent to retrieve the trunk, lifting it up onto his shoulder so he could navigate down the stairs. 

Javert looked around the empty room one last time. It did not look much different as his existence there had been so sparse. He nodded, satisfied, and took a pinch of snuff for a job well done. 

Back outside, Valjean had already hailed a fiacre and Javert arrived in time to watch him lift the trunk into it. 

“Come along, Javert,” he said unnecessarily offering a hand to help Javert into the carriage. “Let's get you home.”

Javert kissed him as soon as the door closed, and very nearly fell on top of him as the carriage began to move. Valjean laughed - a deep sound yet filled with an innocent joy. He took Javert’s arm as they settled beside one another. It ought to be absurd how they continued such constant contact now that they would live together, but Javert was only pleased that Valjean wished to be possessive of him. 

Valjean had a permanent smile on his face - the longest amount of time Javert had ever seen him smile. Knowing that _he_ was the cause, that agreeing to live together would make Valjean so joyful, was a wonder. 

When they reached Rue Plumet and the driver had been paid, Valjean disembarked with the trunk in his arms and a spring in his step. Javert followed at a slower pace, looking at the garden with fresh eyes for it was now _theirs_. 

As he entered the house he appreciated that this was new for both of them. Valjean had never lived here, only using the dining room when in the company of Cosette, and this might be the first proper home Valjean could call his own. He assumed Valjean had gone directly to the bedroom so he headed up the stairs. 

Valjean was waiting in the doorway, hands on his hips, smile still on his face. 

“There is one more thing to get.”

“Oh?” Javert frowned. He was certain he didn't require anything else. 

As he approached Valjean wrapped his arms around him and Javert found himself lifted off the floor. His blood rushed simultaneously to his face and his cock as Valjean positioned him over his shoulder. Valjean turned on his heel and entered the bedroom. He paused after only two steps. 

“I will do what you wanted,” Valjean murmured against Javert’s coat.

“Wanted?” Javert parrotted, feeling somewhat dizzy. He didn’t want Valjean to let go of him, he knew that much.

Valjean’s hand purposely set itself on Javert’s behind and Javert held his breath. He could not mean- Valjean hand gave him a pat, confirming Javert’s first thought. Valjean leaned forwards to set Javert’s feet back on the floor and he found he did not mind after this new development. 

“You mean-” he started, for he had to be sure. “You would-”

“My fingers only,” Valjean said, smile gone but not due to any upset, only caution.

Javert squeezed his eyes shut and stifled a groan. Surely Valjean could feel his hardness pressing into him, first aroused by his strength and now certainly interested until something was done about it.

“You are sure?” Javert asked, his throat dry.

“Yes.” Valjean pushed him back onto the bed. “Only… you must tell me what to do, and you must tell me if there is any pain, or if you wish to stop.”

Javert nodded mutely. Valjean stood before him in silence, pink-faced, wringing his hands.

“You must first get us undressed.” 

“Ah, yes,” Valjean chuckled awkwardly. “A good place to start.”

Javert thought for a moment as Valjean untied his cravat for him.

“You do not have to undress if you do not wish. Remove as much clothing as you feel comfortable with.”

“And you? How many of your clothes should I remove?”

“All of them,” Javert answered immediately. “I enjoy feeling your hands on me. And it gets much too hot with clothes on.”

He was rewarded by Valjean’s amused, yet bashful, smile.

Valjean continued undressing him in silence, and there were no exchanges of kisses as he did so. Although he tried to hide it, Javert could tell Valjean was nervous and distracted. He would try not to make this any more difficult but he was unsure of how to help. 

“You… may also change your mind. There are many other things we may do instead.”

Valjean met his eyes properly for the first time since they entered the bedroom. 

“Thank you.”

Javert leaned forward and kissed him chastely before removing his shirt. 

Once he had been completely undressed, Javert made sure to sit back on the bed and spread his legs so his arousal could not be ignored. 

“You see? It is fine.”

“But we have not started anything yet,” Valjean flushed. 

“Yes. But I am ready for it.” Javert’s tone was firm and sure.

Valjean exhaled through his mouth and nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. 

“I would suggest you at least remove your coat.”

“Perhaps… You could help me with that part…”

“Of course,” Javert smiled, showing his teeth. 

They removed the coat and waistcoat beneath, Valjean kicked off his shoes and nodded his consent for Javert to remove his cravat. Valjean hesitated for a moment before removing his trousers and joining Javert on the bed. 

Javert put his arms around him and kissed him deeply, rubbing his hands over firm muscles. He got a hand under Valjean's shirt and his fingers found the cock which had hardly stirred. 

“Javert,” Valjean inhaled a shallow gasp. “You said-”

“You will feel better about doing it if you are dazed with pleasure yourself. I think.”

“Yes,” Valjean sighed. “That makes sense.”

“Relax.”

“I will try.”

Javert stroked him slowly, perhaps tenderly, his large hand easily encasing Valjean in a softened state. Javert could feel him begin to stiffen against his palm and released him to use his mouth instead. He groaned to feel Valjean growing against his tongue and Valjean's hand found its way into his hair. 

He could not get carried away. He had to remain slow and gentle, almost teasing, to keep Valjean aroused, his body relaxing under the attention but for him to become urgent enough to be prepared to do something about it. 

“Put your hand there,” Javert said, pausing for a moment as the idea came to him. “Not inside, but as close to it as you wish to go.”

He felt Valjean's hands stroke down his sides before resting on his hips. Javert began kissing him again, pressing against that firm chest, and Valjean moved the rest of the way so his hands curved around his buttocks. Javert pushed his tongue into Valjean's mouth and put his hand between them to stroke Valjean's cock again. 

He was rewarded by Valjean squeezing, and digging his blunt nails into Javert’s skin. Javert pressed closer, pushed their cocks together, and did not cease kissing and stroking. He wondered if they would end up finishing like this with no progress at all, but then Valjean's fingers of his left hand slid between his cheeks. 

Javert groaned in encouragement, and when there was no change in his movement to show that Javert was hesitant in any way, Valjean cautiously began to rub and explore his cleft with one finger. 

“There,” Javert growled when Valjean found his entrance. “It's there.”

Valjean only nodded, his brows pulling into a slight frown. His ministrations concentrated where Javert wanted them, stroking over and pressing against his hole. The anticipation was almost at breaking point and Javert tried to remind himself Valjean might not go further and that he shouldn't ask for more.

_He owes you nothing. He has given more than enough._

Javert gasped as a second finger parted his cheeks a bit wider. 

“Valjean. If you wish to go through with this now is the time. Or we must do something else but you must decide now.”

“I will do it,” Valjean whispered against his ear, so quietly Javert might not have heard if he wasn't so close. 

“Put oil on your fingers then,” Javert said, suddenly short of breath. 

They had to part from each other, Javert sitting back from where he had ended up straddled over Valjean's lap. He raised his chin in defiance, to show he was ready and unafraid, which rewarded him with Valjean's nervous smile. 

Javert turned into his hands and knees, the situation daunting and inescapable as he did so. He should be ashamed, behaving like a dog in heat, but his desire threatened to choke him. 

He shuddered when he felt Valjean's fingers return to their previous position, now cool and slick. Valjean kissed his shoulder and resumed the rubbing motions from before. Javert felt Valjean part his cheeks with the other hand, exposing him to Valjean’s gaze. Javert could only bear Valjean timidly dancing around the edges of him for a few moments. 

“Push one finger inside, Valjean. It is simple. I will be fine. I have done it before.”

Valjean's free hand rested on his hip and Javert parted his legs wider. Valjean pushed forward, still too hesitant, but his fingertip breached Javert’s body. Javert tried not to tense at the sensation. 

“Further, Valjean.”

Javert shuddered as his instruction was followed. He had only done this to himself a few times and it still felt unnatural until he acclimatised. At least now the knowledge _Valjean_ was doing this to him made it pleasurable. It was unmistakably Valjean’s finger, thick and blunt, just as he had fantasized. 

“How far?” Valjean asked, his voice trembling with anxiety. 

“As far as you can.”

The intrusion caused an uncomfortable pressure behind his eyes, but he tried to remain relaxed. He grunted.

“Add another,” he said before Valjean grew concerned. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Javert snapped. 

There was an emptiness when Valjean removed his finger, but when two entered him, freshly slicked, it was somehow easier to bear than the first. It was a more prominent feeling, more certain, and Valjean’s careful probing had still managed to sufficiently stretch him. 

“Move inside.”

Valjean did as he was told, pushing deeper again. There was still discomfort, but no pain. Not until Valjean slipped further and there was a burning sensation, drawing a hiss from Javert, but Valjean slid a little deeper in shock before he could retreat. 

That did something very different. 

Javert shuddered as hot pleasure bloomed inside him, taking him by surprise. He must have made a noise because Valjean was pulling away.

“No, no. Valjean. Don't you dare.”

Valjean froze just before he completely retracted his fingers. 

“It was… It was very good. You should… touch me there again.”

“Oh…”

As Valjean moved in again Javert wondered if the fingers on his hip would leave bruises. Valjean would not have realised he had tightened his hold in his concern. The idea of Valjean leaving a mark sent a thrill through him. 

“... Here?”

“Almost. I think. Keep trying.”

Javert did hear the noise he made the next time Valjean hit upon that place inside him - a gasp that became a shaky groan. He pushed back against him, to keep him there, to seek more pleasure, anything, so long as it did not stop. How was it possible to feel even greater pleasure than everything they had done before?

Javert lost himself in the sensation, the discomfort entirely drowned out in an all-consuming arousal. He fucked Valjean's fingers, not coherent enough to wonder how this appeared to Valjean, or concern himself with his debauchery. 

He reached his hand down to the overwhelming pressure between his legs and made the mistake of pressing against it. Once he had touched his cock he could not stop himself from wrapping his hand around it and stroking quick and rough. 

A great shudder passed through his entire body as he spent himself in blinding ecstasy. 

The sensation of Valjean retracting his fingers made Javert return to his senses. His forearm was braced against the bed to prevent him aggravating his wounded hand, and his forehead had come to rest against it. His left hand was still loosely curled around his softening cock, sticky with his own seed. He rolled over when he realised the unfortunate position he was in - head down, rump in the air. 

His eyes met Valjean's and he quickly looked away, knowing with painful clarity how he had behaved. He did not feel used or ashamed, so it only took a moment before Javert had the strength to look at Valjean again. He was not disappointed. Valjean's face was pink to the roots of his hair. 

“It was… good?” 

“Much better than good.”

A pleased, almost self-satisfied smile spread across Valjean's face. 

“Come here,” Javert said, too loose-limbed to consider sitting up. 

They kissed when Valjean was close enough, Valjean’s thumb stroking Javert’s whiskers. As Valjean leaned closer, Javert felt the warm length of his cock against his thigh.

“You enjoyed yourself too?” Javert smirked against his lips. 

“Well I- seeing you that way, it was… I suppose it was… erotic.”

“Not as bad as you feared, then?”

Valjean shook his head. “I did not think it was possible for it to be like that.”

“Neither did I,” Javert said, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. “What I said to you was true but I had never experienced pleasure like that on my own…”

Valjean laid beside him and nuzzled his neck. “Then I am very glad to be of assistance.”

“I am almost ready to begin assisting you in turn.”

“There is no hurry,” Valjean murmured, resting his head on Javert’s shoulder. “I am quite content to lie here with you.” He ran a hand across his stomach. “Your body is so relaxed…”

Javert was not content to wait, his desires insatiable when it came to Valjean. 

“You should stand up.”

“Stand?” Valjean groaned. 

“Not if you do not wish to, but I think I can do better if you do so.”

“Very well.”

As Valjean stood, Javert knelt at his feet. Valjean put a firm had on his shoulder and there was no doubt he could feel the shudder that passed through him. 

“You do not have to do this.”

“I want to. You know that I do.”

He held a hand against that firm stomach to push the shirt out of the way, revealing Valjean's swollen cock. Javert felt nothing but pride in seeing it and knowing he could provide such pleasure to a man who denied himself everything. His free hand moved up to hold it as he his head dipped forward. 

This time his mind was unclouded by the urgent lust of his own needs, he could move slowly, tenderly, and seek to maximise Valjean's pleasure. His tongue explored Valjean's balls, he felt the wrinkled skin against his lips, and heard Valjean's gasp of surprise. With nothing else to stabilise himself, both of Valjean's hands gripped his shoulders as his legs were forced to part wider with a stumbling step. 

Javert moved back to slowly lick up his shaft, eliciting a low, trembling moan. He would not be cruel and not provide Valjean's release if he wanted it, so he closed his lips around the head and slowly but smoothly took him into his mouth. 

Valjean's hips jerked forward and he grabbed Javert’s queue. Javert couldn't stop himself from gagging and Valjean immediately removed his hands from him stammering apologies. Javert held his hips firmly, pulling to get Valjean to resume his motion. 

“Javert- Javert- I cannot-”

Javert growled as he was forced to free his mouth. “I am prepared for it now. I will not fail again.”

“Fail? You did no such thing-”

“Argh!” Javert threw his hands in the air. “Whatever you would call it! It does not matter. How many times do I have to tell you I _want_ this?!”

“This, yes. But you did not say you wished to… choke.”

“Well, I do not wish to choke, you are correct. But I _do_ wish for you to-” he flailed his hand in the air, “thrust into my mouth. Don't make me explain it! Just do it if you wish for that also.”

“Only if you do not choke…”

“I won't!” 

Javert almost folded his arms in indignation but realised it wouldn't have the desired effect if he was naked and kneeling. He shook his head. He had gone about it all wrong again. Valjean had only just met Javert’s desires and now he was already asking for more?

“Or I can do it another way. Whichever way you like best.”

“May I sit down?”

The question pieced him like a blade in his heart. 

“Of course. Valjean, I would never order you, you do not have to do as I say.”

He wanted to kiss him and apologize but he could not breach the distance not knowing if such an advance was desired. 

“Javert.” Valjean reached his arms towards him, welcoming his contact. 

Javert leaned against his leg, not feeling worthy enough to sit by his side. 

“I am sorry. I only wished to give you the greatest pleasure I knew how… but what you would consider that to be is different to what I think.”

“Not too much different,” Valjean said with a cautious smile. “I… would wish for your mouth on me again.”

He held Javert’s shoulder to stop him immediately granting this desire. 

“But first…” Valjean untied the ribbon that held his hair. “There. Now you may try again.”

Valjean's arousal had wilted somewhat but it was easily revived by attentive licks and kisses. Valjean stroked his hair, calm and tender, but Javert did not want him to be tender. He wanted him to be passionate, to take what pleased him without a second thought or apology. 

When he closed his lips around him, Valjean did thrust upwards into him. Only slightly, but Javert still groaned. He would not mind being used by this man, yet he should know Valjean would never do such a thing. Valjean continued his shaky, shallow thrusts, gripping Javert’s hair. 

“I understand,” Valjean equally shaky voice drifted down from above. “You trust me. You trust me,” he choked. 

Javert stroked his thigh. Trust wasn't the source of his pleasure in this scenario, but he could see why it might be for Valjean. For Javert to trust him in the most intimate of ways when he had always thought him to be a liar and a thief, a dishonest criminal who took what he wanted. Of course he would never wish to take anything from anyone. An echo of Valjean's ‘ _mon amour_ ’ resounded in his memory. His eyes watered and he stopped for breath. 

“You know that I love you,” he panted and Valjean squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. 

Javert watched, fascinated, as seed oozed from the head of his cock at those words alone. Emboldened, he licked him clean and continued to speak. 

“I do trust you, but I give myself to you because- because I love you.”

He hated his staggered way of speaking in these moments, awkward sentiments spilling from him in an attempt to make up for the harshness of his voice and the roughness of his touch. Valjean did not seem bothered by these inadequacies. He pulled Javert’s head forward. 

“If- if you continue to say such things… I will- I will finish,” Valjean gasped. 

“I want you to.”

Javert took him into his mouth again, causing Valjean to cry out and tighten his grip. His thrusts came faster and Javert took him, swallowing the bitterness that leaked onto his tongue.

“Javert- Javert-”

He was either warning him or asking for permission, perhaps both, and Javert squeezed his thigh in response. 

Valjean shuddered, filling Javert's mouth with his spend. Javert obediently took all he was given, wiping the trickle from the corner of his mouth and sucking his finger clean. Valjean's fingers gently combed through his hair as the pleasant haze Javert was now familiar with overtook him. 

After a moment, he placed a kiss to Javert's forehead, got his hands under his arms, and encouraged him up off of the floor. Javert laid beside him and Valjean immediately hid his face against his neck. 

“You are not in a hurry to visit your daughter today?” Javert asked with a smile, absently stroking Valjean's back. 

“I would not want her to get sick of me,” Valjean said with humour in his voice. Javert still shook his head. “Besides, today is important.”

Javert would not have thought moving to a different street, into a house he already frequented, would have been an important occasion, but somehow it was. It made a permanent position for him in Valjean's life. 

“... Toussaint will not arrive until 12 o’clock now. And she will leave at 7.”

“Oh?” Javert grinned, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at Valjean. “And why is that?”

Valjean only smiled, broad and happy, and Javert gave into the temptation to kiss him. 

“And where is she now?”

“Well, I told her we might take all day moving your things so she should come by in the evening.”

“All day to pack my one trunk, hm?”

Valjean nodded, still grinning. 

“You are becoming something of a sly old fox, Valjean.”

\-----

They were still lying together some time later, with Javert considering getting dressed with no real conviction. The chill against his skin drove him to stand and find his trousers, and Valjean did the same. He still helped Javert put his shirt on although his assistance wasn't necessary anymore. 

He paused, his hands on Javert’s arms. 

“I have been thinking.”

“Hm?”

“About the child. Cosette’s child.”

“What of it?”

“I… I do not want another child to be raised in deceit. From the day I met her, I was lying to Cosette. I do not want to make that mistake again.”

“You are speaking of applying for a pardon?”

“Yes.”

Of course Valjean would only consider it if he thought it would be of benefit to someone else. Javert sighed. 

“Only if it is what you want. Do not make your decisions based on an unborn babe.”

“It is what I want.”

Javert frowned, doubtful, but nodded. 

“Do not concern yourself with it anymore, leave it with me and I will make enquiries.”

“Thank you.”

Once they started down this road there was no going back. For better or worse, Jean Valjean would be revealed again but this time Javert would do everything in his power to get him what he deserved. He could only hope that it would be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for the poetry! If you want to know the sad ending Javert avoids you can read it [here](https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=c_kuAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA3&source=gbs_toc_r&cad=3#v=onepage&q&f=false)
> 
> Further info to clear things up:
> 
> \- folks bathed in cold water because it was believed hot/warm water opened the pores (which is correct) but that would allow germs to enter the body, so bathing that way was believed to be risky and unclean
> 
> \- underwear wasn't really a thing which is why you never see me write about them taking it off. Dudes went commando but the shirts were long enough to tuck around their junk
> 
> \- shirts tended to have buttons on the top half but not the bottom half which is why you might read them unbuttoning _and_ pulling it over their heads
> 
> :>


	17. Chapter 17

Valjean tried not to think of the pardon, as it only made him anxious, but it was rather difficult when he was alone. That was always a time that awoke his paranoia. He knew when Javert was out longer than usual that he was conducting his own personal investigation, trying to find a way to secure Valjean’s future. Javert never mentioned it, did not speak of what he was doing or any progress he might have made. They tried to live their lives as normal for as long as they could.

He tried to think on the positives instead. Javert came home to him each and every day, and he always had his company for the entire day on Sundays. Cosette and Marius were happy, Alzelma was fitting into her dresses a bit better and she looked less sullen, although she still avoided him. 

The bed in the house of Rue Plumet was bigger and more comfortable than the one they had shared in the hut. Certainly more comfortable for Javert with his long limbs. Despite the extra space, Valjean was glad they did not each take one side of the bed. Javert still wished for his embrace and they would still be tangled together in the morning. 

Javert had to sleep on his back to not disrupt the healing of the wound on his side, which meant before, in the small bed, the only way to sleep together was for Valjean to half lay across him on his front. Now Javert’s wound was healing well and not in danger of reopening, there was much tossing and turning from him trying to find the most desirable sleeping arrangement for the two of them. He seemed to have settled for laying on his side with his back to Valjean, their legs tangled together and Valjean's arm around him. 

Valjean had the warm length of Javert's back pressed against his chest and his heartbeat against his hand, and found himself content with the position as well. 

Valjean awoke with the knowledge that it was a Sunday and yawned, tightening his embrace where it had relaxed in sleep. He pressed a kiss to Javert’s shoulder, who was still snoring softly, and settled back down, idly running his fingers through the hair on Javert’s chest. 

“Mm.” Javert shifted a little in his sleep. 

Valjean drifted in semi-consciousness until Javert squirmed a few minutes later. 

“-jean,” he whispered, sleep-slurred. “-aljean.”

“Shh,” Valjean soothed, placing another kiss to his shoulder. He could feel Javert’s breathing and heart rate increase beneath his palm. “Shh…”

Javert pushed against him with a soft moan and Valjean began to have an idea of the kind of dream he was having. He blushed at the thought. Even when they were regularly intimate, Javert still dreamt of it? His hand ventured downward and Javert squirmed again when Valjean found him to be erect. 

He grunted when Valjean removed his hand, shifting in his hold to find the touch again. 

“ _Mon amour,_ ” Valjean breathed, kissing his neck. He felt his love expand in his chest at the knowledge that even when Javert was not aware of it, he still desired him. There could be no greater truth than the desires of an unconscious mind. 

“Wake up, my Dear,” he said tucking a strand of hair behind Javert’s ear. He would not touch him intimately unless Javert asked but he could not leave him wanting. 

Javert only grunted again and Valjean propped himself up on his elbow, rolling Javert onto his back. Javert blinked his eyes open, and frowned in sleepy confusion. 

“You were dreaming,” Valjean said gently, kissing his cheek. “You were dreaming of me.”

“Mm,” Javert raised his hand to cup Valjean's jaw and stroked his beard with his thumb. 

“An… exciting dream?”

“... Yes,” Javert muttered. “As I'm sure you can tell.” His other hand rested at the back of Valjean's neck, pulling him into a proper kiss. “I am… fixated by you.”

Valjean hid his face against his neck and smiled against his skin. 

“What was I doing in this dream of yours?”

“Being incredibly distracting and arousing. Nothing unusual.”

Valjean snorted. “I do not intend to be distracting _or_ arousing, and I certainly hope no one but you thinks that.”

“As do I,” Javert’s fingers dug into Valjean's nightshirt possessively. 

Valjean kissed at his neck. “I can… make your dream a reality if you tell me what it was.”

Javert groaned, rolling onto his side so they were facing one another, and rested their foreheads together. 

“I do not expect you to… fulfil my every fantasy.”

“I would like to try, if I am able. You would do the same for me.”

“I would give you anything you wanted. Except you do not want for anything,” Javert grumbled. 

“You know that I do. I have never wanted anything so selfishly as I want you. I want to fulfill your desires and have you need me, to look at me so desperately, to speak my name like a prayer. I want to see your body yearn for me. To be fulfilled by me.”

Javert whined through his teeth. “I can do those things. Easily. Look… Look how I yearn.”

He struggled out of his nightshirt. 

“Pass me the oil.”

Valjean did as instructed, and Javert slicked his palm, curling his fingers around his own prick. He closed his eyes tightly and turned his face away as he stroked downwards. 

“You… Like to see this? You said before that you found the sight of me… erotic…”

“Yes,” Valjean whispered, his cheeks hot. 

“Absurd,” Javert muttered. “You absurd man. You have no concept of the things you ought to find attractive, or that should make you happy.”

“What _ought_ to be is someone else's opinion. I will not question what makes me feel so pleasant, I will welcome it, if I may.”

“Very well,” Javert breathed as he continued his slow strokes. “Then you must look at what you wish to look at. I am… thinking of you. I always think of you, Valjean.” 

Their eyes met again and remained locked when Javert released his hold as he re-oiled his fingers. He hesitated before reaching behind himself. Javert kissed him and rested his leg across Valjean's. He grunted softly against him and shivered slightly. 

“Javert? Oh my… Javert, are you… ?”

Javert groaned, hiding his face. “Debasing myself in front of you? Yes. I do not think the Lord can help me now.”

Valjean watched as instincts of common decency screamed at him to turn away from this private act. It stoked the fire in his belly to watch Javert’s face contort, and imagine how many times he might have done this to himself before. 

Despite feeling hopelessly embarrassed about it, Valjean hitched his nightshirt up and loosely stroked his own prick, hoping Javert might experience a similar pleasure watching him too. Javert groaned, confirming Valjean's thoughts. 

“Good God, Valjean- ah-”

Javert’s loose, wet lips were an adequate reason to stop what he was doing to lean down and kiss him instead. Javert's leisurely pace had gone and he rutted up against Valjean with desperate movements. 

“I will do this for you,” Valjean said, stroking Javert’s hair. “You say it is better if I do, that it gives you greater pleasure. I want to do this for you.”

Javert’s hand dropped his swollen prick and gripped Valjean's shirt instead. 

“You drive me mad,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “I will not last.”

“You do not want-”

“Shut up, Valjean! Quickly!”

Valjean caught him before he rolled over, keeping him in position. His hand curved around his buttocks and his fingers slid down between slick cheeks. Valjean shuddered at the same moment as Javert, and he saw Javert's eyes widen at Valjean's intent for them to remain this way. 

Valjean removed his hand to oil his fingers before returning to the position. Javert moved his hips back and Valjean answered the request to push inside. A quiet moan escaped him at how easy it was, that Javert had already loosened himself and his body readily accepted his own. 

Unfortunately Javert's expression could only be described as a grimace, and Valjean tried to get the correct angle quickly, wondering if the success of their last attempt was a fluke. Then, Javert's head rose slightly and his body tensed for just a moment, before the side of his head dropped to the pillow like a dead weight, a low groan rising from his throat. 

“I have found it?”

The warm fluid rubbing across Vajean's belly was answer enough, and he watched in fascination as Javert writhed beneath his arm and tried to move his leg up further, caught his lip between his teeth in an attempt at restraint, and his eyebrows arched up in a wordless plea. 

“I know you will tell me otherwise, but there is beauty in this, Javert. In seeing you like this.”

The moment his tongue slipped inside Javert's mouth, Javert moaned into him, trembling, as the hot streaks of his spend decorated Valjean's skin. Valjean did not cease kissing him, Javert's tongue languid and clumsy against his own. He suddenly thought of how he was entering Javert from two places at once and pulled back sharply, flustered, resulting in a weak grunt from Javert. 

Javert rested a trembling hand over Valjean's heart. He did not say anything, but Valjean thought he understood. _I am yours_ , the gesture seemed to say. Valjean's own hand settled on Javert's hip, as it seemed improper for him to touch Javert anywhere else with it after where those fingers hand been. 

The warm breath of Javert's sigh caressed his cheek. 

“I hope I was able to give you an approximation of your dream,” Valjean said, retrieving his arm from under Javert so he could comb through his hair with his unsullied hand. 

“Yes. Do I not look like a man satisfied?”

“I suppose you do,” Valjean smiled, taking in the sight of his friend, relaxed and warm beside him. 

“Except you are not.”

“Oh, I am very satisfied.”

Javert raised an eyebrow, looking down at Valjean's still-hard prick. “It does not appear so.”

“There are different ways of finding satisfaction, Javert.”

“Well, I would like you to be satisfied in this way also.”

“Very well,” Valjean whispered. 

Javert pushed him onto his back and slid his hands under Valjean's nightshirt to run his hands over his chest. He lowered his head, the ends of his hair tickling Valjean's thighs and making him squirm. 

“Oh, Javert-” Valjean gasped, almost anguished, as soft lips touched his prick. “No, please, you cannot.”

Javert lifted his head, frowning in offence that was in danger of turning to hurt. Valjean stroked his whiskers with his thumbs in reassurance. 

“You give so much-”

“As do you,” Javert almost snapped. 

“But not…” He shrugged helplessly, feeling the blush rise in his face, although it was probably already pink enough as a result of his actions that Javert would not notice. “You give your body. I have already taken from your body just now. I cannot do it again so soon. Do you understand?”

“No,” Javert grumbled. “I tell you there is no harm and that I enjoy these acts.”

“I know. But please. Just for now… your hand is enough.”

Javert did as he was asked, those familiar long fingers curling around his shaft after smoothing the way with oil. Valjean groaned softly to express his satisfaction to Javert. 

“One day,” Javert murmured against his neck, “perhaps you will not fear to take what you want. As much as you want. What is owed to you.”

“You owe me nothing. I do not- not-” Words failed him, certainly with Javert's deft fingers working miracles over his body. 

He could not possess Javert, use him as if he were his property. To use him as a vessel for his lusts… It would be awful. To intrude upon Javert's body in all places until he had served his use for the night (or the morning) was distasteful. It was true that Javert gave himself willingly, and there was no refuting his enjoyment, but it still did not sit right with Valjean. 

Perhaps he was concerned Javert offered himself in such ways as a form of repentance. Perhaps he was merely uncomfortable at being given so much trust and love so readily, and that he was not offering himself to Javert in the same manner. Javert did not expect it of him, but it still felt that Valjean received more than he gave and that their intimacy was unequal in this manner. 

But now was not the time for such concerns. Javert's mouth worked with his sure hands to distract him of all thought. His honest tongue caressed Valjean's nipple and Valjean arched up against him, curling his toes in the sheets. He recalled Javert's reaction and the expression in his face when Valjean had moved inside him. It did not take Valjean long to finish after that. 

He sighed, stroking Javert's soft hair. 

“I do not mean to disappoint-”

“Never,” Javert interrupted. “Never, Valjean. It… It is my greatest pleasure to have you beside me at all.”

“I am still adjusting to this I think. But I believe you know me well enough by now to not be unduly worried when I deny you such things?”

“You deny me nothing,” Javert insisted, pressing himself closer. “But yes, I know you now, Jean Valjean.”

\-----

The subject of the pardon wasn't raised until the next month; by then, Valjean had relaxed, believing it would not happen. When Javert had arrived home from work, he immediately declared that they needed to ‘talk’ and Valjean's heart plummeted. 

“What is it?” He asked, already feeling his palms becoming clammy. 

“Sit and I will tell you.”

He sat at the table and clasped his hands together to stop himself from wringing them. Javert sat opposite him. 

“I have spoken to Chabouillet.”

As always, Javert was blunt and direct to the point, which Valjean was thankful for. 

“I have explained your situation, and our desire to attain a pardon for you.”

“And… how did he react?” Valjean took it as a favourable sign Javert hadn’t rushed home and told him to pack his belongings. 

“He was surprised but I do not think he was entirely ignorant. He knew I had not explained what happened to me after the barricade, some mysterious person was caring for me at an unknown location, and that after these events I acquired ‘Monsieur Fauchelevent’ as a friend. That is remarkable enough in itself as I had not made any attempts at socialisation before, and certainly not outside of the police. The man has known me my entire adult life, he knew something was amiss.”

“Did you explain all of those things?”

“No. I told him that I wished to help someone acquire a pardon, that I was willing to support their case, and I would be grateful for his assistance on the matter. Of course he wanted to know who the criminal was and the circumstances. I told him it was Jean Valjean, who had achieved much as mayor in Montreuil-sur-Mer, and had committed no crime since his last escape from Toulon. Ten years living peacefully as an ordinary citizen.”

“What did he say?” Valjean was unable to raise his voice above a whisper. 

“He said… that he must make his own judgement of this person if he is to put his name behind this cause. It is understandable. He wishes to meet you. A kind of interview, I suppose.”

“But if I were to fail… he would arrest me…”

Javert sighed. “It is an unavoidable possibility. But we will minimise the risk as much as possible. Marius insists you have a strong case, and he has acquired more information on this process. You may have us both with you to ensure that you are fairly treated.”

Valjean nodded, staring at his hands clasped together on the table. Javert placed his own hand on top of them, and tilted Valjean's chin up with his free hand to kiss him. 

“I will not let them take you.”

“That is what worries me most,” Valjean said with a sad smile. “I could not bear for you to be in trouble with the law after all of your efforts.”

“It will not come to that.”

Valjean wasn't entirely convinced. 

\-----

Javert made all of the necessary arrangements and they were agreed that to prolong the meeting would only increase Valjean's anxiety. The meeting was scheduled for the end of the week, and the next few days dragged terribly. Valjean was unable to do anything but worry. He could not even respond to Javert's affections adequately, for he was too distracted. This only served to make him feel worse, despite Javert's assurances. 

When Friday finally arrived, Valjean was up at the crack of dawn. He had not slept. He paced the kitchen and the garden, unaware of the chill autumn air. 

His feet led him back to the bedroom where he opened one of the shutters to memorise the sight of Javert’s sleeping form. He mapped the constellations of moles that resided beneath Javert's nightshirt in his mind. 

The River: a line of five dots starting from the left shoulder and ending over his sternum. The Wolf: an almost straight line of three dots, with two below that Valjean could connect to the line above to resemble legs, and one above where he could imagine the head raised in a howl. The Trowel… Javert’s Belt… Valjean did not progress much further before he drifted to sleep. 

“Valjean.”

“I was not asleep. I was mapping constellations,” Valjean murmured, his eyes still closed, feeling Javert's fingers in his hair. 

“Then you were asleep. You cannot see the stars when the sun is up.”

“I can see them at any time…”

“Very well, let us get this nonsense out of your system so you can be coherent to Chabouillet.”

Cold reality crept up Valjean's spine and he couldn't suppress his shiver. Javert stroked his hair, almost as an apology. 

“Breakfast?” Javert asked and Valjean shook his head. 

“Tea. I am too nervous to eat,” he confessed. 

Javert hummed in agreement. “I will brew it while you get ready.”

Valjean stretched and his back cracked from where he had fallen asleep propped up against the headboard. If only he could huddle down in the body-warmed sheets and remain cocooned and content, to not have to be judged by another and put his freedom in their hands. He felt as if his entire life had been directed by the judgement of others. He sighed and forced himself off the bed. To go to the Palais de Justice showed his commitment and to not appear now would be a sign of a guilty heart. 

Javert found him some minutes later staring into his wardrobe. 

“Valjean the tea will get cold- Why are you still in your nightshirt?!”

“I do not know what to wear,” Valjean replied forlornly. He ought to look respectable but pushing it too far would surely be an insult to Chabouillet and appear false. 

Javert's hands immediately began pushing through the fabric, quickly assessing each garment with a frown. 

“You can put on a shirt, Valjean. That part is not so difficult.”

Javert held one out to him, careful not to crease it. He did not turn and look as Valjean undressed, his scrutiny reserved solely for the merge selection of clothes. 

“Here,” Javert handed him a pair of grey trousers that hadn't suffered too much wear. Indeed, when Valjean put them on he was relieved to note the knees had not faded too noticably. 

Next was a waistcoat and jacket he reserved for occasions such as visiting the Pontmercy-Gillenormand household. They were neat and serviceable, but rather plain and somber to not draw too much attention to himself. He had never spent frivolously for his own needs, even Madeleine had not worn the finery that had been expected of his office often. 

Javert fussed over tucking Valjean's shirt in more tightly, polishing the buttons of the waistcoat with his sleeve, and finally tying his cravat for him with great care. 

“There. That will suffice. Don't wear that awful yellow coat.”

“Ah. Indeed.”

“Now come, sit and have your tea. There is still time.”

Valjean followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table, watching Javert pour the tea. 

“Thank you. For helping,” Valjean murmured. 

“Of course. I would hardly take you in your nightshirt.”

Valjean smiled but he did not have enough humour to laugh. They drank in silence for a few moments, and Javert's legs moved to brush against his own. He did not move them away again but retained that reassuring contact. Valjean closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the warmth of Javert's shin and his stable presence, inhaling the aroma of his drink. 

“... Should I look him in the eye when we speak?”

“Yes. You are an honourable citizen, Valjean.”

“He may disagree about that.”

“We hope that he will not. I would not have asked for his assistance if I thought he would not listen to you.”

Valjean nodded. 

It wasn't long before the hour they had to leave, and Valjean decided he would prefer to walk there to get rid of his nervous energy and occupy himself sooner. He donned his hat and rarely-worn dark brown coat, which he kept for the purposes of passing unnoticed in the night in case the need ever arose again.

Javert linked their arms and held onto him tightly, almost as if he was afraid Valjean would run. Valjean looked up at him and attempted a reassuring smile, to be met with the sharp lines of Javert's nose and chin in profile, contrasted by the softness of his whiskers, just as the warm tone of his skin contrasted the grey sky. He was dignified. Powerful. Looking at him like that, Valjean did not think anyone would be able to stand in his way. 

“You look very fine,” Valjean said, and Javert snorted in disagreement. 

Javert tried his best to initiate small talk, but such conversation had never been his forté. With Valjean too distracted to sustain it, they ended up walking in silence. 

When they were only a few streets away from their destination, Valjean's nerves took hold of him in ernest. 

“We are early yet. Let us detour.”

Javert did not protest, and followed where Valjean took him. 

Valjean was not aware of where he was headed, running on instinct he began to turn down alleyways, losing himself deeper and deeper in the maze of the city, hiding in the shadows of the buildings. 

He was finally met with resistance when Javert pulled him away from attempting to climb over the barrel that blocked his way. 

“We will be late. Come along.”

Javert did not tug him again and they stood frozen for one tense moment before Valjean bowed his head and followed him back into the light. 

Javert hailed a fiacre, and Valjean stumbled back as it approached. Javert pulled his arm with impatience. 

“We _will_ be late.”

His gaze was not cold and sharp like a policeman commanding his prisoner. It sparked with anguish. Valjean allowed himself to be herded into the carriage and sat down heavily. Javert sat beside him, taking Valjean's hand in his own. Valjean was surprised that Javert's fingers were shaking and he squeezed them in apology. 

When they stopped outside the Palais de Justice, Valjean was noticeably trembling. It took all of his willpower to merely rise from his seat. Javert took his hand to help him from the carriage, and once his feet were on the pavement, the great building loomed over him with an oppressive force. 

The carriage rattled away and Valjean was left frozen, like a rabbit with its head between the jaws of a wolf, moments before its demise, with no power to prevent its end. But he was not alone. He was reminded of this when Javert squeezed his hand. All was not lost so long as he had someone beside him. 

He exhaled and turned to look at Javert, knowing he might be the only person in the whole of Paris to find the face of Javert more beautiful than the sight of the Palais de Justice. His thick brows were pulled into a frown (which was not uncommon), but Valjean knew how his skin felt beneath his fingers, the softness of his lips, and the silkiness of his hair. Those dark eyes held concern and love for him. 

Javert offered him a nod of encouragement and removed his hand to place it against the inside of Valjean's elbow - a more appropriate form of contact. Valjean was thankful Javert did not release him completely, he was not sure if he would have had the strength to move forward otherwise. 

The people moving around them were little more than the current of a river, a continuing motion passing around him. He was not aware of faces or individuals, only the mass and movement. 

Once inside, everything was pale and cold. The large open spaces and high ceilings left him exposed. Conversation echoed so that voices were all around him. He quickened his pace, keeping his head down, trying to make his footfalls as soft as possible, although this was counteracted by Javert’s heavy boots. 

It was a relief to turn down a smaller corridor. Javert sat him in a chair and Valjean lifted his gaze to watch him speak to someone behind a desk. He returned quickly and took a seat beside him. He pointed to a door ahead of them to their left. 

“That is Chabouillet’s office. We must wait to be summoned.”

Valjean could only nod. 

“You will be fine. He is more patient than I am, and looks less severe. Just answer his questions as truthfully as possible. He will sniff out any lies you try and it will not serve you well.”

Valjean's eyes scanned the area for all possible exits while he waited, but nothing looked promising. There were too many people, the spaces were too open, and he could not blend in with these men - prim, aloof and superior. 

He was becoming restless. He wished to occupy his hands with a different task to distract his mind. He picked at his fingernails and fiddled with his cuffs but it did nothing to help him. He only thought of the thick scars on his wrists that could be so easily revealed. 

“M. Chabouillet will see you now,” the young man from behind the desk called. 

Javert only nodded in response and Valjean was too frozen to give his own acknowledgement. Javert’s hand was at his elbow again, encouraging him to stand. Valjean did so on shaky legs, and Javert led him to the appropriate door.

“Ready?” He whispered, glancing down to meet Valjean's gaze without turning his head. 

Valjean forced himself to nod and Javert let go of him to knock on the dark wood. He did not reestablish contact with Valjean again. 

“Come in,” the voice beyond the door beckoned. 

The door opened and Valjean nearly gave into the urge to turn and run that flared up inside him. He could feel Javert’s eyes on him and Valjean vowed he would not embarrass him in front of his patron. He stepped into Chabouillet's office. 

The man himself sat behind a heavy mahogany desk, the same calm dignity Valjean recalled from their previous meeting, although the expression was more serious and somber this time. Valjean flinched at the sound of the door closing, hoping that it was not noticeable. 

He was trapped. 

“Jean Valjean,” Chabouillet addressed him. He did not rise from his chair and extend his hand as good manners would dictate. “Now we are properly introduced.”

“Yes, Monsieur.” Valjean could not bear to look him in the eye, focusing on his grey hairline instead. 

Javert had told him to behave as an ordinary citizen would but Valjean wasn't so sure about that if Chabouillet wasn't treating him like one. Should he look down and show that he knew his place? Or was this some kind of test?

“Thank you, Javert. You may leave us now.”

“But-”

“If I am to form my own opinion of the matter, your presence is not required.”

Valjean sensed Javert tense and hoped he would not argue. He did not dare look at him, fearing Javert would see how much he wanted him to stay. Instead, he nodded to Chabouillet, giving Javert the signal to leave. He heard his boots stepping away to the door, which creaked open and then closed a little harder than necessary, leaving him truly afraid. 

“You wished to see me, Monsieur?” Valjean forced himself to speak and to keep his voice steady. 

“Indeed. It is your wish to be pardoned? I imagine every convict has such a wish. But Inspector Javert tells me that you are deserving of it so I will make my assessment. His assistance has got you this far, but no further.”

Chabouillet paused long enough that Valjean wondered if he was expected to speak. 

“That is fair, Monsieur.”

“What made you decide you ought to be pardoned?”

“The few people I have close to me decided, Monsieur.”

“And you only do this because they wish it?”

“The main reason, yes. I am in my last years and I would see no point in pursuing it now but… I may have a grandchild soon and I would not want the parents to have to take on the burdens of my secrets. They should be able to tell this child whatever they wish of me. But I will not deny that being pardoned would benefit me.”

“You are merely doing this so your children do not have to lie to their unborn child?”

“Yes, Monsieur. But even so, I may not have pursued it if not for the confidence and support of the Inspector and my lawyer son-in-law.”

“We should confront the fact you have no children to your name. This daughter you have avoided mentioning: is she your blood?”

“No, Monsieur. She was orphaned and her mother gave me a duty in her dying moments to take the child into my protection.”

“But she did not know who you really are. Do you think she would have entrusted her only child to you if she did?”

“I cannot say. But if she had been able to see how her daughter was being kept - no better than a slave - I think she would have made the same decision.”

“Of course this is all conjecture,” Chabouillet dismissed, waving his hand. “Let us return to the facts. You were in Toulon, correct?”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“And you had a tendency to break the rules and spit in the face of authority. Four escape attempts before your parole and one successful escape after your arrest in Montreuil-sur-Mer.”

Valjean blinked, shocked and stunned, as if he had been slapped across the face. He glanced down to meet his eyes, which were not as cold as he expected, but he still imagined he could see contempt there. It heated his blood with the old embers of an animal anger and hurt. 

“I received my punishment. I served my time. 19 years I have paid for those mistakes, it is the law that a criminal serves the sentence that is due. He should not be punished again for the same infractions.”

Chaboulliet raised his brows at Valjean's lack of tact but he did not chastise him for it. 

“Indeed. You have been lashed?”

Valjean was startled by this sudden line of questioning. It seemed Chabouillet would meet blunt answers with an equally bare and direct interrogation. 

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“How many times?”

“I… I do not know.”

“Surely you can count the marks.”

“I do not care to, Monsieur.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it is in the past. It was a punishment for my previous actions, I knew the number of lashes each infraction warranted at the time, but it is of no use to know the number now. I still carry the marks of it across my skin and within my soul, that is enough.”

“Oh? It is? And when does the convict get to have an opinion on his sentence?”

“When he is no longer a convict. I served my sentence, I was released and tried to live as an ordinary man.”

“Ah yes,” Chabouillet murmured, leafing through the papers on his desk. “By living under a false name, a name talked of often in the business circles of Paris in years past, and becoming mayor of a town. That kind of ordinary?”

“I only wanted to provide jobs in the factory, Monsieur, but it turns out I have a head for business. As for the mayorship… I declined, but I could not continue to do so. Behaving so strangely would raise suspicion.”

“And rightly so, some would say. Inspector Javert included. His reports of that time were quite thorough, as they always are.”

“I am sure.”

“You say you served your sentence for your previous crimes, but you did not serve your sentence once you were uncovered as hiding under the guise of Madeleine. Your sentence was life yet you faked your death.”

“Indeed,” Valjean bowed his head. “And it is for that crime for which I seek to be pardoned.”

“Hm. And what do you hope to achieve as a free man?”

“Peace. That is all. I have no grand schemes or desires. Perhaps I will be able to help the unfortunate more than I have been. But I am tired, my days of running a business are over.” He paused, uncertain if mentioning Javert would cause trouble for his friend. “And I do not wish to cause a problem for Inspector Javert if he associates with me - an escaped convict.”

“He is… a friend of yours?” Chabouillet asked, leaning forward in interest. 

“If an old con and a police inspector can be friends, perhaps.”

A sly smile pulled at the corner of the secretary's mouth, recognising Valjean's non-committal answer. 

“And when he disappeared for a week after the student rebellion, he was with you?”

“Yes, Monsieur. He was unwell.”

“How so?”

“That is his business, Monsieur, you should ask him. You should know he is always truthful.”

“And if he has already told me and I merely wish to gain your view on the matter?”

“My view is that he is a good man who is very good at his job. I happened to find him in a time of need and offered my assistance, that is all.”

Chabouillet nodded thoughtfully and Valjean was able to look at him properly now some of the tension in the room had diffused. He had a quietly imposing appearance fashioned from impeccable professional attire and an air of unquestionable authority. Valjean imagined that Javert idolised this man, especially when he had been young and in need of guidance. His fear subsided. He was glad of this man. Without him what would have become of Javert?

“I only hope the Inspector’s reputation has not been sullied by bringing me here. Whatever you may decide, I hope you will treat him as you always have.”

“Hmm,” Chabouillet tilted his head and drummed his fingers on his desk. “Javert was under your command in Montreuil. You did not allow him to resign, or even transfer him elsewhere. Not even a complaint was made against him. Why?”

“He was only doing his duty, Monsieur. I could not fault him for that, and everything he accused me of at the time was correct.”

“It would have made your life easier.”

Valjean shook his head. “No, Monsieur. It would have been one more guilty act, one more crime to weigh my soul. I could not.”

“Very well,” Chabouillet declared, suddenly rising from his seat. “I have no further questions. Javert's report was… extensive. I had to reschedule _three_ meetings!” 

He chuckled, warm and deep, and that started Valjean more than anything. His demeanour had switched from interrogator to friendly associate like a flip of a coin. He walked around the desk and extended his hand. Valjean stared at it for a moment before he shook it. He jumped when Chabouillet’s heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Forgive my line of questioning, Monsieur Valjean. As I've said, Javert provided me with a thorough account of your past so I really did not need much more information. I only needed to assess your personality, any propensity for anger, bitterness and violence. I will help your case, but there is still no guarantee of success.”

Valjean blinked, still holding the Secretary’s hand, feeling as if he was in a dream. He finally released him and looked up to meet his eyes. 

“Thank you, Monsieur…”

“ _JAVERT!_ ” Chabouillet called and Valjean startled again, his heart almost leaving his chest. 

The door opened immediately, which could only mean Javert had been listening outside it. Chabouillet shared a knowing smile with Valjean, who was too dazed to interpret it. 

“Escort Monsieur Valjean back home.”

“Yes, Monsieur. Thank you, Monsieur.”

Javert bowed low and Chabouillet waved him off. Javert took hold of Valjean's arm again and Valjean flushed at him doing such a thing in front of his patron. He turned back to look at Chabouillet before he went through the door, and was given a single nod. 

He did not have time to think as Javert pulled him along, making him jog to keep up. He did not even get to take a breath of fresh air as they stepped outside and Javert flung out his arm for a fiacre. 

The only thought he had before he was pushed inside, was that he would have quite liked to walk. This was immediately erased as the door slammed closed and Javert's lips pressed against his own. 

They remained with their foreheads pressed together, breathing heavily. 

“I thought you were going to run,” Javert whispered. “I was not sure you would come with me when I said we would be late. And I do not think I would have chased you if you didn't.”

“Javert…” Valjean stroked his hair. “I would not do that to you.”

Javert nodded, his jaw tense, and Valjean kissed him again. Valjean sighed and exhaled a breathless chuckle.

“I feel as if I could sleep for a year.”

“That would be dreadfully boring. You may sleep today though.”

“I will be sure to be awake when you come back home.”

Javert looked at his knees. “I do not want to return to work. But I must. I do not wish to leave you today.”

Valjean squeezed his hand. “I am fine. I will be there, waiting for you.” 

\-----

Valjean did rest for the remainder of that day. Even when Javert returned home, he fussed, made Valjean sit in his armchair and still retire to bed early. He asked nothing of Valjean, only desiring to lie beside him, and Valjean felt guilty that he had been too wrapped up in his own fears to see how it had affected Javert. 

The following day they visited Marius and Cosette to tell them of their progress. Cosette’s pregnancy was now undeniable and she placed Valjean's hand on her belly to feel the kicks every time he visited. He has cried the first time but he felt like crying whenever he felt it as it was so indescribably wonderful, not only that Cosette would have a child, but that this child would be part of his life too. 

Javert was stilted and awkward when they arrived. He hardly saw Cosette anymore, as Valjean always visited while he was at work, and this appeared to be preferable to Javert. Although Valjean was certain he would have met with Marius to discuss the business of the pardon, he thought it was likely Javert would always arrange to meet elsewhere rather than suffer making a house visit. 

“Madame,” Javert greeted Cosette with a bow. “You are looking very well.”

“Thank you, Inspector. Now that you have seen my condition for yourself, perhaps you can convince Papa not to worry so.”

“I believe it would be impossible to stop him fretting over you but indeed, I can present a better argument now.”

Cosette laughed and placed her hand on his arm, making Javert flinch like a skittish cat. “Is that the type of company you provide each other with? Friendly arguments?”

Javert's eyes met his own and Valjean felt his face warm. 

“Well, the conversation would be rather dull if we agreed on everything,” Javert replied smoothly. 

“No arguments during your visit though, agreed? We have much to talk about I'm sure. Please come in and sit down.”

Valjean offered his arm to help her to the couch and she accepted with a warm smile. They sat beside each other, as always. Cosette wanted him near so she could grab his hand and place it on her belly whenever the baby kicked. Javert took an armchair close to Valjean and Marius arrived to sit on the other side of Cosette. 

“Good morning, gentleman! Nicolette will be in with the tea shortly but tell us! What did the Secretary say?”

“Ah, well, he was amenable.”

“Pah! He was more than that, Valjean. He agreed to assist us.” 

Javert spoke with such pride and Valjean wondered which part had made him feel so. The fact his plan had paid off? That Chabouillet had treated Valjean as he had hoped? Perhaps even proud that Valjean had survived the meeting… ?

“Wonderful!” Cosette clapped her hands. 

“That is fine news indeed, Father!” Marius declared, reaching behind Cosette to clap him on the shoulder. 

“Chabouillet will send a letter when everything is in place for us to make the official application,” Javert said. “And tell us our next steps.”

“What a wonderful man,” Cosette said. “I'm sure his support will be incredibly useful.”

“I will make contact with him then, if you are happy for me to act as your lawyer?” Marius asked. 

“Of course,” Valjean nodded. What Marius lacked in experience, he hoped would be made up by his passion, and guided by Chabouillet, Valjean had confidence in him. Javert didn't look so sure.

“Oh! Papa! The baby is celebrating too!”

Cosette placed his hand against her rounded belly, and he felt the kicks immediately. 

“I think you ought to be more careful with your mother,” he scolded good-naturedly. 

Cosette laughed, he laughed too and felt blessed, as always, that he could experience these joys. 

“Mademoiselle,” Javert's clipped voice said beside him and Valjean looked up to see Azelma in the doorway. 

Javert would not have seen her since Thénardier’s capture. She was nearly unrecognisable from that time. Hair hair was neatly and prettily arranged, her cheeks touched with rouge, eyes bright and her healthy figure flattered by a dark blue dress. If not for her scowl, Valjean thought Javert might not have recognised her at all. 

Nicolette stepped past her with the tea tray, providing them all with a distraction. Valjean didn't not expect Azelma to approach and sit with them. She perched awkwardly on the armchair, evidently finding the manner of a Lady unnatural. 

“Inspector,” she responded, holding the fine china of her teacup just as awkwardly as she was sitting. Javert's own cup was dwarfed in his hands. “You arrested my Pa.”

“Yes.”

“And he died when he was locked up.”

“Yes.”

It was almost like watching two dogs growl at each other, which might be amusing if not for the tension in the atmosphere. 

“When will you arrest me?”

 _Oh_ , Valjean thought, his heart going out to her. _The poor girl has been waiting for the other shoe to drop all this time._

“I will not. You are not under arrest. You have a warning. Do not associate with such people again.”

“I won't.” For the first time her voice was soft and meek, and she lowered her head, looking into her cup. “Thank you, ‘spector. … Sorry you got stabbed.”

Javert shrugged, sipping his drink. “It was to be expected.”

\-----

There was no further news for nearly two weeks, in which both Valjean and Javert suffered from anxious pacing, expecting the police at the door at any moment. They were never far apart and almost always in contact with one another, Javert's protective hand on his arm or his waist. 

The letter arrived at the start of October, when the leaves were turning and the skies were becoming greyer, and all Valjean could see was the decay; the light growing shorter and the sun losing its warmth. He prayed each night that Javert's warmth would not be taken from him too. 

The letter was addressed to both of them and so Valjean waited for Javert's return before he opened it. Although if he was honest with himself, the main reason he refrained was that Javert's keen eyes would know it had already been read and he would probably be offended Valjean had not waited. 

He could not wait more than a few moments after Javert walked through the door. 

“The letter!” He declared, waving it under Javert's nose. 

Javert snatched it from his grip to scrutinise the envelope. 

“Indeed,” he murmured. “Come then, let us sit.”

They sat beside each other at the table and Javert handed the envelope back to Valjean.

“You ought to read it aloud. You are a faster reader than I.”

Valjean nodded, giving Javert one last glance before he tore open the seal and pulled the letter free. 

“Monsieur and Inspector, I address this to both of you as you will both be required in the next steps of this process. I have used Inspector Javert's own written report, a statement from the police vouching for his credibility, as well as short testimonies from other sources in favour of this pardon, for Monsieur Pomtmercy to compile this as evidence supporting your case. 

The next stage is the hearing. It will not be the same as the trials Monsieur Valjean has experienced before. There will be no open court and calling of witnesses, the judge will have already made his decision and you must attend to listen to his verdict.”

Valjean paused for a moment and knew that Javert also understood the reason for such a requirement. He needed to attend so that he could be arrested if his case did not succeed. 

“Unfortunately, there are certain conditions that must be met for the hearing. It must take place in the district of the original crime and sentence. In this case it is difficult to say where this might take place, as Monsieur Valjean pointed out, he served his sentence for his crime of theft, so I imagine they may use the location where the parole was broken or perhaps somewhere relating to the rearrest in either M-sur-M or Arras. I cannot say. 

Regardless, there is a formality that you need to be aware of…”

“What is it?” Javert snapped, leaning closer to read for himself. “... Monsieur Valjean must be in custody before the pardon can be submitted.”

They ruminated in heavy silence.

“Well!” Valjean said with forced cheer. “We will do what we must. There is nothing else for it.”

“You have a choice,” Javert said, his voice almost a whisper, the edges of the letter crumpling in his hands. “It has not been done yet.”

Valjean smiled and wasn’t certain he was successful in masking the sadness in it. “It has. We have set it in motion, Javert. Even if Chabouillet for some reason wished to keep my secret, I would be forever fearful of the knowledge he possessed. Isn’t that why I am doing this? So I no longer have to hide in fear?”

“Yes. But I do not like it.”

Another strained silence pushed its way between them and Valjean was just about to break it when Javert spoke again.

“I said I would not arrest you, Valjean. I said I would not do it.”

“Oh, well, I suppose we could ask someone else-”

“No! I do not want anyone to handle you roughly or treat it like a regular arrest but… I gave you my word.”

“Then we will not think of it as an arrest,” Valjean said, placing his hand over Javert's. 

“And here you are trying to comfort _me_ ,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “After everything… It still comes down to this. Me. Taking you in. I promise I will detest every moment. It will not be like before.”

“I know,” Valjean said, cupping his friend’s brooding face. “You are a changed man. There can be no doubt about that now. Let us see what else Chabouillet has to say.”

He took the page back from Javert's hands. 

“Pontmercy will submit the request once Monsieur Valjean is in custody. I gave him the file personally yesterday and he will receive a letter the same day as you have received this, telling him much the same as I am telling you now. 

Inform him when you expect to be arrested so he can act immediately. All I can suggest is that you do not delay. 

Best of luck, M. Chabouillet.”

Valjean took his time refolding the letter. Chabouillet was right. They could not delay, there was danger in that. Any one of the people involved could be found out to be sympathising with him, a criminal, and the longer he left it the more reluctant he would become to see it through. Too many people had put themselves at stake for him not to do this. 

“Javert. Would you take me to the station tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?!” Anguish gripped Javert's features and Valjean held his hands. 

“The sooner it is done, the sooner we can move past it.”

Javert nodded slowly, his head lowered so that Valjean could not see his eyes. 

“Tomorrow,” he muttered. 

\-----

The rest of the evening was understandably strained after that but Javert seemed to shake himself out of his mood after dinner. He made great efforts of small talk and conversation, he sat with their shoulders and legs pressed together on the couch, even when Toussaint was still in the house. 

They had not been intimate for more than a week, the anxiety waiting for Chabouillet’s letter apparently strangling Javert's libido. But his body never needed much encouragement, and as Valjean slowly approached and began to carefully undress him as they were preparing for bed, his prick had hardened by the time Valjean reached his trousers. 

He studied Javert's body once he was bared before him, following the lines and curves of him with his roughened palms. Javert shivered but remained still, accepting this scrutiny with his fists clenched at his sides. He hissed through his teeth when Valjean cupped his genitals to feel the weight and warmth of them. 

“You may undress me too,” he whispered and Javert immediately seized his shirt but hesitated. Valjean still did not often remove his shirt in Javert's company. Valjean nodded his consent. 

The shirt was quickly pulled from him and Javert's hungry mouth pressed against his throat and chest. Valjean stumbled back to sit them on the bed. Javert's teeth pressed lightly against the thick muscle between Valjean's neck and shoulder, feeling the strength there, and he groaned. 

Valjean closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing even. He did not want them to rush towards their climax, he wanted to savour it, imprint it in his mind and keep it there for the rest of his days. He did not stop Javert from behaving however he desired, he merely stroked his hair with a gentle hand as Javert's immediate urge to touch and taste settled down. 

It did not take long for Javert to hesitate. 

“This was not your intention?” 

Valjean should have expected doubt to be the first response to his inactivity. He shook his head. 

“I am enjoying all of these sensations you provide.”

Javert's eyes widened. “You are enjoying yourself solely experiencing your own pleasure?”

Valjean yelped in surprise as Javert pounced on him. 

“Then that is progress indeed,” Javert murmured against his jaw, settling himself over Valjean's prone form to utilise his mouth and hands further. 

“I confess… I have an ulterior motive.”

“Of course. How foolish of me to think you would be content to let me pleasure you all night.”

“ _All night?_ ” Valjean sputtered. “That is to say, I would not mind, and do not think I am not content or unsatisfied with your actions, but… I wish to give you something this night.”

He held Javert's face in his hands before he could protest, stroking his full whiskers with his thumbs. 

“I will leave you satisfied.”

This only earnt him a frown. 

“Don't you always?”

Valjean shook his head. “Not in the same manner as your dreams.”

It took a moment for Javert to comprehend but once he did, he sat back, eyes wide, shaking his head. 

“You do not have to do this. I do not ask anything of you, only that you care for yourself.”

“I want to.”

“You do not owe me anything- I expect nothing-”

“I know. I want to. Only… I wish to look at your face. That is a loving way to do it, I am sure. As a man and wife would.”

“Except we cannot be married. I cannot give you children. Would you have wanted that? Has circumstance also robbed you of an opportunity of family?”

The words left his mouth quickly, clearly this was something Javert had been preoccupied by and had not voiced. As always, attempting to steer Valjean away from his more extreme desires. 

Valjean shook his head. “I never had the chance to think on it, so I did not desire it. When I had room in my head and my heart for daydreams and fantasies I was no more than a boy. Hunger starved such thoughts more than it starved my body.

I _have_ a child, the most wonderful daughter. Javert, I am blessed! I did not ask for a family of my own and yet, in a way, I have received it. I have no such regrets, no wishes for another life.”

“None?” Javert frowned in disbelief. 

“None! All my life I have wished to be somewhere else, or someone else, and now… Now I am happy to be Jean Valjean. I _want_ to be Jean Valjean. Here, in Paris, with you. There is nowhere else I would want to be. Without travelling the harsh roads of my life, I might not be here with you, like this. I am glad to be Jean Valjean, and everything that means, if I get to make love to you in this bed tonight.”

“You-” Javert’s eyes shimmered with unshed emotion. “You only had to say ‘none’.”

Valjean felt a smile stretch his face as he sat up to embrace his friend, his love, and the one constant in his life. 

“Perhaps you would like to finish undressing me.”

“Yes,” Javert muttered into his hair. 

Together they freed Valjean from his trousers and stockings and Javert's hand came to rest upon his back when his body was turned away from him. 

“I have regrets…” Javert whispered, his finger tracing a scar. The dulled sensation made Valjean shudder. “So many regrets of the past…”

A whimper escaped Valjean as he felt Javert press his lips against his marred back. Javert moved behind him completely to continue kissing each mark, each moment of suffering. 

“You are forgiven,” Valjean breathed. “I forgive you. God will forgive you.”

“Lie on your front.”

Valjean followed the instruction, which was intoned as if it were a suggestion, and Javert progressed down to his lower back. He kissed the stripes that spanned his buttocks, and further where some lashes had reached the backs of his thighs. Valjean felt no shame or fear, he only felt loved. 

“You see?” Javert murmured, coaxing Valjean to roll over by nudging his side. “Your scars do not make a difference to this.”

He loosely stroked his own cock just once for Valjean to understand. 

“Yes,” Valjean leaned up to kiss him. “Now allow me.”

He took the oil from the nightstand and Javert opened his hand to take it from him. Valjean had used his fingers a few times now but Javert had started the process himself on each occasion after the first attempt, knowing Valjean was often preoccupied with the thought of causing pain. Valjean kept the bottle and shook his head.

“Allow me,” he repeated. 

“You… You are certain?”

“Yes. I know how much you desire it. And how much you enjoy it.”

Javert looked away from him and cleared his throat. “Indeed. Very well, you wish for us to look at each other so… on my side?”

“If that is comfortable.”

Javert rolled his eyes. “The aim is not comfort, Valjean. I'd hardly describe my condition as comfortable.”

Valjean kissed him and they shifted into position. He oiled his fingers as Javert's leg came to rest over his hip. Valjean reached over him but still paused when his slick fingers touched between Javert's cheeks. Javert nodded before Valjean could even ask if it was okay to continue. 

“Please,” he breathed, the warmth of the word caressing Valjean's lips. 

Valjean pushed inside and Javert shifted the position of his leg to accommodate him. His hole was so tight around his finger it made him nervous. He had forgotten how this felt, to prepare him from the beginning. 

“Does it hurt?”

A surprised gasp left his chest as Javert pushed back, forcing Valjean further inside him. 

“Please,” he repeated. 

Valjean inhaled a steadying breath and nodded, continuing to probe and stretch. He had done this before. They had done this a number of times together. Javert enjoyed it. It was love. 

When Valjean was familiar with the sensation and he wasn't met with resistance, he added a second finger, making Javert squirm and groan in pleasure and encouragement. Valjean was more used to this, the ease of movement, and he worked on finding the place that brought Javert the most pleasure. 

Javert's kisses were sudden and sloppy, soft groans escaping his throat as he moved his hips to pleasure himself on Valjean's fingers in a way that still made Valjean blush. 

“I could… I could finish like this. You do not have to do anything else.”

Valjean shook his head, kissing him gently. There would be no harm. Javert would be slick and wide enough to accommodate him. It would be no different to this. 

“Then you must stop. I am close. À deux doigts de1,” he chuckled weakly. 

Valjean snorted, kissing him as he removed his fingers. He rolled Javert onto his back and picked up the oil once more. This time Javert did take it from him, and lovingly stroked slick hands over Valjean's prick, accompanied by equally loving kisses to his lips, or sometimes his beard or nose. 

Valjean nearly forgot himself in the calm attention until Javert released him and laid back down. They fussed with the position of Javert's legs, trying to find what was most comfortable and natural, but whichever way seemed odd. 

“It is fine,” Javert grunted, one knee over Valjean's shoulder and the other around his waist. 

“Tell me if we should change position.”

“Yes, yes,” Javert said with a wave of his hand. “Now begin.”

Valjean guided his prick with one hand, pausing just as the head pushed against Javert's entrance. He had never seen anything so lewd. He shuddered, his face hot, and pushed forward. 

His gasp got stuck in his throat as he watched the head disappear into Javert's body. He trembled. He had not considered how this act would feel for himself. It was unlike anything they had done before. So hot and tight around him. A long, low moan reverberated in his throat. 

He held himself still, needing to squeeze his eyes shut with the restraint. He was afraid to move, afraid he wouldn't stop moving if he did, too hard and fast, perhaps causing pain. 

“Valjean.” A hand came to rest against his cheek. “Valjean. Stop now.”

“I am sorry. I can-”

But Javert was already wriggling back, Valjean's prick falling from him, immediately missing the heat of his body. 

“I have thought of something,” Javert said. “Let me up.”

Valjean sat back, still dazed from his brief new experience. Javert was pushing at his shoulders, laying him on his back. Valjean couldn't help but notice Javert's arousal had wilted slightly. Then Javert's knees were either side of him, his hand holding Valjean's prick steady as he lowered himself. 

“Javert!” Valjean gasped, shocked at this development he had never considered. 

Javert's heat enveloped him once again and all thought flew from him mind. He fisted his hands in the sheets, using all of his strength to remain still as Javert took his prick progressively deeper inside himself. 

After what felt like an eternity, he felt Javert's buttocks and thighs against his skin. He had taken him completely. Valjean's eyes flew open and he was met with the sight of Javert's slightly wobbly triumphant smirk and he panted atop him. His eyes widened as Valjean twitched inside him. 

“I feel good?” Javert asked, his voice rough, and it was only then that Valjean heard the echoes of the noises he had been making in his ears. 

He could only nod, his hands coming to rest on Javert's hips. Javert stroked Valjean's arms and he wiggled to position himself more comfortably. Every movement was pleasurable to Valjean, and he sighed, attempting to get used to the feeling. 

He could not achieve such a thing when Javert began to move up and down his length, slowly and carefully. With each motion he became braver, more confident, sliding more of Valjean out of him and taking him in again. He could feel himself leaking, his seed _inside_ Javert. He groaned helplessly, holding Javert's hips, trying to focus on keeping still. 

A broken noise came from Javert but before Valjean could question it, the pace suddenly increased and he was rendered speechless and stupid. Javert was panting roughly, his hair in disarray, as he rubbed that place inside himself on Valjean's prick. 

_This_ was the most lewd thing Valjean had ever witnessed. Javert's desperate movements, his mouth hanging open, his prick full and dripping, bobbing around obscenely. He was powerless to stop his hips thrusting up, tearing groans from both of them. 

“Yes. Yes. Valjean. Do that. Don't be afraid.”

Valjean couldn't stop himself now that his restraint had crumbled. His hips bucked upwards and Javert came down to meet him. He was gasping as he spilled himself, reaching, clutching at Javert, holding him. 

He blinked into coherence when he felt Javert's hand in his hair. His forehead was pressed against Javert's shoulder. Javert was on his lap. His prick was still inside the heat of his body. 

“Is this- Is it comfortable?” He asked, his voice shaking. 

“Mm,” Javert answered, pressing down further. Valjean could feel his own spend trickling onto him and shuddered. 

Javert started to move again, even easier and slicker than before. His hot, hard flesh rubbed against Valjean's stomach. One hand was still in his hair, the other gripped his shoulder and ragged breaths fanned over his ear. 

“Jean- Jean- hm. Thank you, Jean.”

Valjean lifted his head. The _Val_ of his name had not been lost in breathlessness this time. He could not recall hearing someone call him by solely his given name. Surely his sister had but he could not remember it. He kissed Javert deeply and his still-slick hand wrapped around his shaft, loosely pumping him and Javert's spend decorated his fingers. His body tensed around Valjean's softening prick, forcing a choked gasp from him, and then Javert slumped against his chest. 

They remained like that, the only sound their laboured breaths, until Javert grunted and tried to move. Valjean came to his senses and assisted, finally slipping free of Javert's body, causing Javert to shudder. Valjean laid him down gently and became aware of the sweat on the sheets, the musky air and the seed oozing from Javert's hole. He flushed, quickly pressing a kiss to Javert’s warm cheek. As soon as he rose from the bed, Javert reached for him. 

“I will only be a moment,” Valjean promised, squeezing his fingers. “I am going to clean you up.”

He took the basin of water from the dresser and the cloth beside it. He shuddered as he washed his tender prick, so sensitive after such stimulation, and cleaned Javert's spend from himself. He cracked open the window before he settled back on the bed, washing Javert's stomach. Javert sighed, his eyes were closed and Valjean was reluctant to ask him to move. 

“Roll over so I can clean you,” he said gently. 

Javert flopped onto his front and sighed again. He allowed Valjean to spread his legs but he flinched when the cold water touched his skin and squirmed when Valjean rubbed over his hole. 

When he was satisfied with their cleanliness, Valjean emptied the basin out of the window and placed it back on the dresser before finally cuddling up to Javert's still-warm body beneath the covers. He was exhausted. His eyes were heavy but he heard one last thing before he drifted to sleep:

“I am yours.”

\-----

Their activity had exhausted and relaxed Valjean enough to be able to sleep soundly but he still awoke early. Javert also appeared to have been affected similarly - his breathing deep and steady as he snored lightly in his slumber. Valjean couldn't help but pull him closer and hold him tighter, burying his face in those soft waves of dark hair. He never wanted to forget how these moments felt. 

Unfortunately they could not remain in bed forever. Regardless of Valjean's impending arrest, Javert was still due at the station that morning. He woke him gently with soft kisses and didn't not speak until Javert rolled to face him, his eyes half open. 

“You must get up in time for breakfast before you leave.”

Javert grunted. “I'd rather have more time here.”

They passed the morning in near silence, with too much to say yet no way of articulating it. There was a firm press of hands whenever they touched - to pass the jam or the tea. Valjean brushed Javert's hair and tied it neatly with a navy ribbon that matched his cravat. He helped Javert into his coat and received no protest for his coddling. Javert made no move towards the door. 

“You are never late for work, Javert. You should not start now,” Valjean smiled patting Javert's rigid shoulder. “I will visit Cosette and Marius, do not worry about me. I will be back home by two.” _For my arrest._ “I will see you then.”

Javert suddenly had him in an almost suffocating embrace, forcing Valjean stand on his toes. He kissed him just as forcefully, just once, before tearing himself away and practically fleeing from the house. Valjean blinked at his retreating figure. 

He decided to visit Cosette immediately to stop himself brooding. He even took a fiacre to maximise the amount of time he could spend visiting. 

Cosette embraced him as soon as he stepped over the threshold and he was led inside for them to sit in their usual seats. He let Cosette's idle chatter wash over him, unable to entirely focus on it but enjoying it nonetheless. He waited for Marius to enter before he told them the news. 

“I am to be arrested this afternoon.”

Cosette clasped his hand. “Marius told me you would have to be in custody but is there really no other way?”

“I'm afraid not, my love,” Marius said solemnly. 

“But it'll be alright, won't it? It will only be for a day or two and then you will be a free man!”

“Yes, that is right,” Marius assured her. 

Valjean could not give such an assurance. His crimes and evasions of justice weighed heavily on him and he was not certain his meek way of life and charitable deeds would balance the scale in his favour. 

“Rest assured, Father, I will submit your pardon appeal at the very moment you are taken in.”

“Thank you. Now let us speak of it no longer. Tell me, how is the garden?”

And so he passed the time listening to all that had been harvested, the plants Cosette feared would not survive the winter, and Valjean imparted his advice at every turn. Marius left for work, promising again that he would submit the pardon application promptly. 

Azelma entered when Cosette left to find Nicolette for tea. 

“Monsieur,” she greeted him. She looked him in the eye, her expression serious. “You are going to prison?”

“Yes. I do not want to hide any longer. I must answer for my crimes once and for all.”

“But why?” She frowned. “Why must you?”

“Because I do not want to cause those I love to fear or worry any longer. I do not wish my history to bring shame upon them.”

“Will they pardon you?”

“I cannot say.”

“And yet you will still go, even if you might be locked up forever.”

“Yes,” Valjean whispered, closing his eyes. Her bluntness reminded him of Javert and he might have smiled if his heart wasn't so empty. 

“Here, this is for you,” she said, extending her closed hand to him. 

She dropped a small piece of metal into his palm. Valjean held it between thumb and forefinger but it did not take much scrutiny to realise what it was. A small file, the other end sharpened to a point. It was very, _very_ tempting but he passed it back to her with a shake of his head.

“Thank you, but I cannot. I am trying to convince them of my innocence… I cannot risk it. I must have a clear conscience.”

“I don't understand you people,” she huffed, turning on her heel and leaving the room. 

“You are not the only one,” Valjean murmured to himself. 

Time passed somehow both too fast and too slow, the time he was due to leave came upon him sooner than he would have liked. Cosette offered to travel back with him but he declined, not wanting her to exert herself unnecessarily. He decided to walk. It was, perhaps, his last chance as a free man to do so. 

The sky was grey but the rain held off, and Valjean pushed his hat down tighter on his head so that a gust of wind did not carry it away. He thought of his walks with Cosette, before Marius came into her life. He thought of his walks with Javert, arms linked in friendly companionship. 

He wondered if Azelma's gift had been a sign, and if he had damned himself by not accepting it. Was he a fool to fall into the prison system for one last time, trusting that he would be treated justly? The law had never been merciful to him before. 

He tried not to let his thoughts stray to his immediate future and instead absorbed the world around him. The sights, the sounds, the scents. The wind buffeting him as he walked, tugging at his hat and coattails. The chill against his nose, the pressure in the air from the unfallen rain, the birdsong as they birds hurried about their business before the rain came. 

He was calm, and tired, by the time he got home. He appreciated the warmth of the indoors but did not make a fire. He did not remove his coat either. Javert would come soon. 

He made tea to distract himself. It had been months since he had wished not to see Javert. Of course he _wanted_ to see him but never in these circumstances. He found himself wishing that Javert had accepted his suggestion of getting someone else to make the arrest. 

He was only halfway through his cup when Javert entered, very carefully, but the house was so quiet Valjean still heard him. He envisioned Javert, the old Inspector, sneaking in to catch him in a criminal act and slap the cuffs on his wrists with a triumphant cry. He shivered. 

“... Jean?”

The voice was too quiet, too uncertain to be that man. When Valjean raised his eyes, Javert stood tense in the doorway of the room, head bowed, almost asking Valjean's permission to enter. 

“Hello, Javert.”

It took all of his willpower to stand and walk to him. It was easier to focus on the pained features of his friend and pretend that he was approaching to comfort him. He kissed his cheek. 

“Is there a fiacre waiting?”

Javert nodded, still not meeting his eyes, and Valjean took him by the arm and led him back outside. 

Once inside the carriage, Valjean offered his hands willingly, he would not force Javert to ask him. Javert stared at them, his face twisting into a snarl of distaste. He took Valjean's hands very carefully in his own, and his expression softened as he bent his head to kiss them. 

He then tugged Valjean's sleeves down and slowly produced his handcuffs, holding the chain so they did not jangle. He placed the first manacle over the sleeve, so Valjean would not feel the cold, harsh metal against his skin. 

When the second was fastened, Javert entwined their fingers, his head still bent low. 

“I am sorry.”

“I know,” Valjean squeezed his hands and kissed the top of his head. “Thank you, Javert, for all you have done for me these past months. I love you dearly, and this will not change that.”

“Do not speak that way,” Javert chided, raised his head to meet Valjean's eyes. “Do not speak as if we will not see each other again.”

Valjean kissed him so Javert would not see the sadness in his smile. 

“I will not let that happen,” Javert vowed, his voice low. “I told Chabouillet I would stake my career on this. I do not lie.”

“You told him that?!”

“Yes. It would be a great injustice to imprison you.”

“Javert…” Valjean signed. “You should not endanger your position.”

The carriage came to a halt, silencing whatever retort Javert may have had. His grip tightened on Valjean's fingers. 

“Come along, Javert,” Valjean encouraged gently when he made no move to stand. “They will wonder where we've got to.”

Javert gave a single nod. 

“I will find out where your hearing will be and stay at an inn there if I am not assigned to take you. I'll come and collect you once it is done.”

“Javert-”

“I will be here. I am not leaving you. Keep that in mind.”

Valjean swallowed, realising that Javert was remembering how he had found Valjean after Cosette had left him. Weak and helpless when suffering from loneliness. 

“Here.” Javert's hand delved into the top pocket of his coat and held out his fist to Valjean. 

Valjean opened his hands to accept whatever Javert was offering. With a quiet rattle, a rosary fell into his palms. Javert's rosary. The rosary Madeleine had manufactured and had remained with his Inspector for all those years. 

“I imagine they will allow you to pray. Know that I am waiting.”

Valjean wrapped it around his wrist as Javert stood and exited the carriage. When he reached the door himself, Javert was there on the pavement with a hand held out to help him. Valjean could almost forget the manacles when he felt that reassuring hand at his elbow. 

He entered the building, thinking of how Javert arrived at work each day, and interested to see the people he worked with. It was a shame he could not be there in different circumstances, to fully appreciate this insight into Javert's life. 

He thought of his own pleas last year for Javert to bring him here, met with Javert's confused outrage and frustration. He had chosen to die rather than arrest Valjean and he had still brought him here in the end. One could almost imagine that the past year had not happened at all, that the streets were still stained with blood, the air acrid with gunpowder, and Javert had waited outside his front door to arrest him just as he promised. 

But no. Valjean clutched the rosary. Javert would not have guided him so gently a year ago. He wore a cravat and a pin that Valjean had brought for him. Valjean had given them to him after Javert had kissed him. 

“Jean Valjean. Escaped convict.”

Valjean was shaken from his thoughts by Javert's words, spoken so hollowly to the man behind the desk. Somehow, that man was Rivette. Surely this was not the job of an inspector. Javert must have arranged for this. 

Rivette dutifully copied this down into the ledger. “Very good, Sir. Take him down to a free room.”

His eyes met Valjean's and he smiled the understanding smile of a friend, his eyes sorrowful. Javert's fingers sunk deeper into the folds of Valjean's coat. He did not move. Rivette’s gaze flicked between them. 

“Ah, but some of the locks are being replaced, Sir. I will show you an appropriate cell to use.”

When Rivette had come out from behind the desk, Valjean pulled his arm out of Javert's grip and stepped towards him. 

“I'm sure Inspector Rivette can deal with me from here,” he said looking to Javert. He did not want Javert to have to suffer the sight of him behind bars. He did not want Javert to see him reduced to a convict once more. He did not want to see Javert turn the key in the lock and walk away. 

Javert looked hunted and lost, as if he were the one in cuffs. Valjean nodded to him and turned away, allowing Rivette to guide him. Javert remained, frozen by indecision. 

A chill gripped Valjean deep inside when he was confronted with the cells. He kept his head down as he was taken to one on the far end, away from the other inmates. He was always kept apart. He was dangerous. 

A murmur of voices and he was pushed inside. The door closed. 

“I'm going to have to search you, Monsieur,” Rivette said, keeping his voice low. “Policy, you understand.”

His hat, cuffs, coat and cravat were removed, his shirt untucked and his body patted down. His boots were taken off and the pockets of his trousers were turned out. Mercifully, the search was left at that. Rivette pocketed the manacles. 

“May I keep the rosary, Sir?” Valjean whispered, his head still bent low, half expecting to be hit for his insolence. 

Rivette closed his hand around Valjean's fingers, keeping the rosary safe in his palm. “Of course, Monsieur.”

“Alright, he's fine,” Rivette raised his voice to the guard outside the cell door, which was opened for him and relocked quickly. 

Rivette nodded to him, Valjean's belongings bundled in his arms, and Valjean dropped his gaze to the cold, cracked slabs beneath his feet. 

After the footsteps had died away, he retreated to the pallet in the corner, curling up on himself. He heard the wind outside, the jeering and rattling chains of his neighbours. He closed his eyes and could taste the sea air. He bit back a sob and clutched the rosary, trying to remember the goodness in his life as raindrops blew in from the window, a mocking taste of freedom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. à deux doigts de: idiom. within an inch of; very close (lit.: at two fingers of). I made a French pun!↩
> 
> thanks to iberiandoctor for the [pardon research](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6701155/chapters/20340526#workskin)


End file.
